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THE 



RHODE ISLAND COTTAGE ; 



OR, A 



GIFT FOR THE CHILDREN OF SORROW. 



A NARRATIVE OF FACTS, 



BY A PRESBYTER OF THE CHURCH. 



SECOND EDITION, 



WITH ADDITIONS AND, TWO ENj 

AND THE SUflFERER 



Price, 18| Cents 



Kt\\i "ST 1 h : 

PRINTED BY W. B. & T. SMITH, 
89 Nassau, and 128 Fulton Streets. 

1841. 




i^:& 



C\^ 






TO THE DAUGHTERS 

OF THE LATE 

JOHN JAY, 

WHO H/VVE BEEN EYE WITNESSES OF ITS TRUTH. 
THIS LITTLE SKETCH IS DEDICATED 
BY THEIR 

AFFECTIONATE FRIEND. 



y0 



NOTICE BY THE Rev. Dr. SEABURY, 

FROM THE 

Phurchman of September 12, 1835. 



CYNTHIA TAGGART. 

A SKETCH of this most remarkable sufferer has been 
lately published by Messrs. Swords, Stanford & Co., 
under the title of " The Rhode Island Cottage/' which 
may bo ascribed, we presume, to the pen of the Rev. 
James C. Richmond, who has so benevolently interested 
himself in her behalf. The narrative is one of mournful 
and intense interest, and written with beautiful and af 
fecting simpliciiy. The object of it we understand to be, 
to excite an interest in the public mind in favor ol the 
poems of Miss Taggart,* an edition of which was publish- 
ed some time since, a part of which yet remains unsold. 
The object is most praiseworthy ; and while we heartily 
conunend " The Rhode Island Cottage"' as a narrative 
which cannot be read without tears by any not devoid of 
«ill human sympathies, we would entreat every reader to 
let the interest awakened by the narrative lead him to 
inquire after the poems, if, indeed, he do not already pos- 
sess them. These poems are on many accounts re- 
markable: they are the productions of a native and un- 
tutored genius : in their images and allusions they are 
singularly characteristic of humble life, as it exists in our 
own country : they are the essays of one who for eleven 
years has been the victim of unremitted anguish, incom- 

* Poems by Cynthia Taggart, 2d edition, for sale at 
28 Ann Street, and 111 Nassau. 



parison of which all the ordinary forms of sickness and 
sorrow vanish into nothing: they pour forth a continued 
flow of sorrow in a versification seldom harsh, always 
perspicuous, often strikingly peculiar in sentiment and 
diction, and occasionally disclosing gleams of poetic 
genius; and they are still more remarkable as the monu- 
ments of the efficacy of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in 
mitigating with consolation, and even illumining with joy, 
the most appalling, and, in respect to worldly relief, the 
most desperate extremities of human wretchedness. One 
further recommendation they have : they have been pub- 
lished by some friends, whom Providence has raised up 
to succor the sufferer, with the benevolent intention of 
averting the evils of poverty and dependence from one 
whose life, even without this aggravation, is no better 
than a propagated agony. With all these claims to no- 
tic4B, might we not expect that every American and every 
Christian would own the poems of Cynthia Taggart? 
Or must it be left to a future generation to pay an empty 
tribute to sorrow and genius, which the present have 
passed by in apathy ? 

From one of the poems of some length, entitled "The 
Heart's Desire," we will venture to detach the follow- 
ing verses, and insert them under the title of an Ode to 
Health, Let the reader turn to No. 48 of the Rambler, 
and compare with them a celebrated ode to Health, one 
of the beautiful remnants of Greek antiquity, as trans- 
lated and eulogized by the Colossus of English literature,* 
and see how lame and spiritless is the exquisite polish of 
the Grecian specimen, by the side of the impassioied 
burst of prayer, the touches so true to life, the descrip- 
tions so intensely powerful, wrought by nature, as it 
■were, in the strains of the obscure inmate of the Rhode 

* Dr. Johioson. 



Island Cottage ? How insipid the wish, 

M-Cra (Tov vanijii 
To XeiTTOjj.ei'ui' 0Lotai, 

■compared with the fnll-soulcd adjuiation tl:at sues, 

" By all the pangs of wasting life, 
By gasping iiruure"s cliiliing strife, 

I'o gain one lingering view 
Of thy fair aspect, rniidly sweet, 
And kiss from off thy airy feet 

The healing drops of dew." 

How wretchedly impertinent and common-place seems 
the allusion to the influence of health in enhancujg the 
pleasures of wealth and power, and biith and love, com- 
pared with the touching lamenjatioji of domestic lone- 
liness, and banishment from social enjoyments, niduced 
by protracted disease : 

"And separate fromthe household band, 

Disconsolate and Jone, • 

With no swiei converse social charm, 

One pain imj erious to disarm, 
And quell the rising moan ." 

The truth and, force of the allusion in this stanza can 
hardly be conceived but by those who have beheld a fel- 
low-creature cut otF from social sympathies, and com- • 
pelled month after month, and year after year, to turn 
the energies of a vigorous mind in upon itself, and feed 
upon its own agonies, 

" While every thought that filled the brain 
Gave maddenmg energy to pain." 

an ©Kc to jEJcnllf). 

O Health I thy succoring aid extend, 
While low, Avilh bleeding lieart, I bend, 
And on thine every rraans attend, 

And sue with streaming eyes ; 
But more remote thou fliest away, 
The humbler I thine influence pray, 

And expectation dies. 



8 



Twice three long years of life have gone, 
Since thy loved presence was withdrawn, 

And I to grief resigned ; 
Laid en the couch of lingering pain, 
Where stern disease's torturing chain 

Has every limb confined. 

And separate from the household band. 

Disconsolate and lone, 
With no sweet converse's social charm, 
One pain imperious to disarm, 

Or quell the rising moan ; 
I lie in hopeless doom to grieve, 
While no kind office can relieve, 
Korean 1 sustenance receive 

But. from anotliei's hand. 

While anguish veils the body o'er, 
And balmy sleep is known no more. 
And every Ihougiit that Uirills the brain 
Gives frantic eneray to pain, 
And the cold dew drops copious drain 
Through every opening, rending pore. 

Health ! wilt thou not, for the black stream, 
That bears keen poison through the veins, 

A cordial swift prepare ? 
Bring back tlieir own bri-lit crimson glow, 
And°lhe true circulating flow. 
And mitigate de>pair] 

Once more my pleadings I renew, 
And with my panting breath I sue. 

Goaded by potent pain, 
By all the pangs of wasting lite, 
By gasping nature's chilluig strife, 

To°gain one lingering view 
Of thv fair ai^pect, mildly sweet. 
And kiss from off thine airy feet 
The healing drops of dew. 

O bathe my burning temples now. 
And cool the scorching of my brow. 

And lisht the rayless eye ; . 

My strength revive with thine own might, 
And with thy footsteps firm and light, 
O bear me to thy radiant height. 

Where, soft reposing, lie 
Mild peace, and happiness, and joy. 
And nature's sweets, that never cloy, 
- Unmixed with direful pain's alloy ; 
Leave me not thus to die ! 



THE 



RHODE ISLAND COTTAGE. 



The approaching dissolution of a very dear mo- 
ther had cast a deep shade of sorrow over the 
minds of two brothers. The younger of them 
relates thefollowing unadorned incidents, as they 
then occurred, in the fervent hope, and with an 
earnest prayer, that they may be to many who 
are sorrowing, as they proved to him, a lesson 
to bear, with resignation and meekness, the trials 
sent by a merciful God, to wean our souls from 
the world, and advance them to a heavenly and 
enduring inheritance. He trusts that many sons 
and daughters of suffering may thence derive 
encouragement to receive, with devout submis- 
sion, afflictions that dwindle into trifles, compared 
with the sore and heavy burden that God is 
pleased to lay upon these childr(>n of sorrow. 

On a pleasant day in the spring of 1832, we 
determined to leave the noisy and bustling town 
for the more tranquil scenes that surround the 
rural graves of our forefathers. Our way lay 
across that beautiful island which has sometimes 
1* 



10 

been called the Eden of our land. And indeed, 
the peaceful vale which lies within it, refreshed 
by cool and healthful breezes from the sea, and 
enlivened by the waves whose snow-crested sum- 
mit may be seen, and sometimes heard, as they 
roll in and break upon the distant beach ; the 
green meadows.brighleninginthesudden glances 
of the sun, now hidden, and now beaming forth 
again from the hasty clouds, while the flitting 
shadows are seen running along the sloping hill- 
side, or quickly crossing the little valley; the 
fertile fields, relieved at intervals by clustering 
trees, or here and there adorned with a quiet 
habitation, whose industrious and healthy in- 
mates, dispersed over the valley, give animation 
to the scene; the birds and the flocks who may 
here feed or sing undisturbed; the bright and 
lively rivulets that are heard murmuring over 
the pebbles, or seen opening upon you unexpect- 
edly, and therefore doubly refreshing and de- 
lightful; the sight of a sail at sea, or the 
beautiful country-seat on the summit of the distant 
hills, which but just reminds you of the troubled 
world you have left behind ;— these, and a thou- 
sand untold beauties, demand for Rhode Island a 
little more than that passing tribute of admira 
tion which we bestow on all the lovely works 
of God. 



11 

Through such scenes wound our way, until, 
at length, it brought us to a bank, overlooking 
the eastern arm of the ocean, which there sepa- 
rates the island from the main-land. In the 
beautiful bay beneath us lay the ferry-boat; but 
unfortunately, as we then thought, the ferryman 
was absent. While one of the brothers remain- 
ed on the rocks to raise a signal for the boat on 
the opposite side, the other approached a small 
farm-house, on the hill that rises gently sloping 
from the shore, for the purpose of trying the 
hospitality of its inhabitants. 

And here he must pause to acknowledge the 
infinite goodness and wisdom of Him whose 
ways are not as ours, and who ordereth every 
step of man to the accomplishment of His bene- 
ficent purposes, although, as in the present case, 
the unconscious instrument see nought in the 
Providence of God but disappointment and delay. 
Had the ferryman been at home as usual, the 
subjects of this humble sketch might have re- 
mained in their poverty and obscurity, unseen, 
unheard of, and unassisted. Had he been at his 
post, as we several times fruitlessly wished, a 
gifted creature of God might have lain till this 
hour, in a measure undiscovered ; the powers 
which her Creator bestowed, might have died 
with her unknown, and the instructive example 



12 

of a suffering, but eminently resigned and Chris- 
tian family, would have been lost to the afflicted. 
Many a time from childhood had we crossed that 
ferry, and the ferryman had never once been 
absent. Never before had we occasion to visit 
"the Rhode Island Cottage." 

On approaching the rail fence that formed the 
^nly entrance to a small patch of ground, culti- 
vated as a garden, I observed in front of the 
house a feeble old man, bowed down with the 
weight of sickness and of lengthened days. With 
some difficulty, on account of his deafness, I 
drew his attention from the little household cares 
over which he was bending. He kindly ap- 
proached the fpnce, and leaning upon it, entered 
into conversation, which soon showed that his 
mind was not altogether of the common order. 
On my remarking thesuperiority of his language 
over his station and opportunities, the old man 
quietly replied, with some slight appearance of 
conscious intelligence, "Why, Sir, there are two 
things which I always attended to, the right mean- 
ing of words, and the right spelling of words." 

"These are certainly sufficient," I replied, 
"if you always put them, as I observe you do, 
in their right places. But when you were young 
the country was distracted by the revolution, and 
you had neither leisure nor opportunity for edu- 
cation." 



13 

"'Tis true, Sir, I was engaged in hard strug- 
gles, and made hair-breadth escapes in the old 
war, but God carried me safely through them all ; 
and as he gave me a wish to learn, and to read, 
I found time and books, and obtained some know- 
ledge, with the help of a good father, who knew 
the advantages of learning. They say the Tag- 
garts were always inclined to be a reading 
family. Sir." 

He then entered into a short history of his 
revolutionary days, which he wrote out just be- 
fore his death, and which has been prefixed to 
his daughter's poems.* It soon appeared that he 
was intimately acquainted, and, during the war, 
had lived with some of the very men whose 
graves we were about to visit. When I disclosed 
my name, he exclaimed, " Why, Sir, you are 
one of our own folks !" and his kindness was in- 
creased, if possible, towards a descendant of one 
of his old comrades in war. But though willing 
and anxious to comply with my request to furnish 
us with food, he expressed his fears lest he should 
be unable, on account of the state of his family. 
" I suppose, Sir," he said, " that I have the 
most afflicted family on this island. I have one 



* Poems by Cynthia Taggart, second edition, Cam- 
bridge, 1834, p. xxvii. 
2 



14 

daughter who has been lying on her bed in that 
house, more than eleven years,* and the physi- 
cians can do nothing for her. Her sister has 
worn herself out in watching over her, and now 
she is a cripple, and has to be moved about the 
house. Another daughter is deranged, and my 
wife is old and feeble, and troubled with a bad 
cough. She does all she can, Sir ; but I cannot 
work as I used to do : and I have had very 
heavy doctors' bills to pay. It is but a little 
while since I paid more than four hundred dol- 
lars. I have been obliged to mortgage my little 
farm ; and it is almost all gone. I hope it will 
be enough to carry us through this world to a 
better. It is all right. I know that the Supreme 
Ruler of the universe does what is best for us." 
As the venerable old man concluded, and I 
looked upon his silver locks, I could not help 
loving him. My interest was the more strongl}?" 
excited because I thought I discovered in his ap- 
pearance, language, and piety, some resemblance 
to the good Dairyman. Indeed, I have often 
wished the whole scene might be delineated by 
that beloved and excellent disciple of Christ, 
who has described, with so much feeling and 
beauty, similar cases, which show that we should 

" Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 
But trust him for his grace ; 

• Now seventeen years. 



15 

Behind a frowning providence, 
He hides a smiling face." 

But he is gone to his rest, and cannot behold a 
sct=ne peculiarly fitted to awaken the interest of all 
who delii{ht to know " the Annals of the Poor." 
Had he looked upon that humble cottage, it 
would have drawn from his rich mind some 
pious remembrance of the Master who had not 
where to lay his head. Had he gazed on the 
broad ocean which you may see from the cottage- 
door, he would have recognized the emblem of 
God's infinity in its boundless expanse, seen his 
peace reflected from its calm blue bosom, or 
heard the terrible voice of the Lord in the ma- 
jestic thundering of its waters against the rough 
rocks of the opposite Seconet. He could not 
have looked upon the beautiful and peaceful 
Mount Hope, without reminding you of the love- 
liness of Mount Zion, and the eternal peace of 
heaven. He could not have cast his eye upon 
the rock,* where the Indian warrior smoked the 

* Colonel Church, the boldest of the early warriors 
against the Indians, made a treaty with Awashonk^, the 
queen-sachem of the Seconets, at a rock on the farm of 
Edward Richmond, 1675. This treaty destroyed the 
power, and ruined the hopes ofKing Philip. — See History 
of Colonel Church. See also " An Historical Memoir of the 
Colony of New-Flyviouth, by Francis Baylies,^' vol. ii. 
part Hi. p. 14f>. 



# 



16 

pipe of peace with the white man, without 
lamenting that the foted race was passing from 
the earth, and that the white man had told the 
Indian little, very little, of the great peace to be 
made at the cross of Christ, the Rock of Ages. 
But he rests fiom his labors, and we would 
not call him back, no, not even to do that which 
another may accomplish unworthily, to tell "the 
simple Annals of the Poor." No, not even to be- 
hold face to face the countenance of that modern 
disciple of heavenly charity, whom, having not 
seen, we love. 

" Might one wish bring thee, would I wish thee here? 
I would not trust my heart— the dear delight 
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might; 
But no, what here we call our life is such, 
So liule to be loved, and thou so much, 
That I should ill reqiiite thee to constrain 
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again." 

Sure I am, that I shall be pardoned this pass- 
inof remembrance of the "Friend"' of "the Cotta- 
ger," though it has detained me a moment from 
the cottager himself 

This good old man was a deacon in the Bap- 
tist communion. When shall all that bear the 
name of Christ be filled with the spirit of cha- 
rity, that appeared in his answer to my half 
doubtful inquiry? — "I have a brother below 



17 

who is a Christian minister, but he is of the 
Episcopal Church, and perhaps you do not de- 
sire that he should visit your afflicted family!" 
" O, Sir, with great joy," he replied, "for though 
there are many paths, there is only one Lord 
and one heaven." And 1 hastened down the 
hill to my brother on the shore, and in a few 
moments we were standing before the door of 
the cottage. It was opened by the old man 
himself Never shall I forget the appearance 
of this aged soldier, who had contended for the 
rights of his country in his morning days, and, 
in the noon and evening of life, had girded on 
the sword of the Spirit, and faithfully fought the 
battles of Christ. He was now, as ii afterwards 
proved, about to lay aside the earthly imple- 
ments of his Christian warHire, to receive the 
crown of victory and glory from the hands of 
the great Captain of his salvation. 

He had removed the hat from his head, which 
bore the furrows of nearly seventy-eight sum- 
mers. The white locks were carefully combed 
and fell on each side of his temples. It was 
evident that he now felt all the dignity of a pa- 
triarch in receiving an ambassador from his 
heavenly Prince. There was something inde- 
scribable in his elevated demeanor, which seem- 
ed to say to my brother, "I know that you are 
2* 



18 

coming on the highest erabassy of God to man ; 
that you are a herald of the consolation, and 
pardon, and peace of the gospel, and I would 
stand at the door of my house and bid a worthy 
welcome to the servant of my Lord." In the 
impressive service appointed by the Church for 
her afflicted children. 

" Peace be to this house, and to all that dwell in it." 

My heart responded, Amen. Walking slow- 
ly before us into the room, the old man said, 
" Wife, here are some of our own folks come to 
see us," and we were welcomed by a feeble and 
aged woman, who seemed worn out with fatigue 
and watching, and troubled with a consumptive 
cough. The old man left the room, but soon 
returned, moving with difficulty his eldest 
daughter, the cripple, by rocking the chair in 
which she sat from si le to side. He then 
placed himself by the clergyman, and from the 
conversation that ensued, it was evident that his 
heart was at rest, in contemplation of the tran- 
sient nature of earthly sorrows, and the never- 
.ending joys of heaven. 

" These great afflictions are doubtless intend- 
ed," said the minister, " to free us from our at- 
tachment to the world, and to set our minds on 
the things above." " Doubtless," replied the 






19 



old man, as he quoted the scriptures slowly, and 
with solemn reverence, " for we have here no 
continuing city, but w^e seek a house not made 
with hands, eternal in the heavens." 

This spirit of entire resignation, which shone 
forth triumphantly in every sentence uttered by 
the good and venerable man, was indeed delight- 
ful. The character of the mother was, perhaps, 
less chastened and subdued. She was, it may 
be, under the necessity of being more like 
Martha, "careful and troubled," in providing 
for us. Indeed, she has since confessed, that 
when she first saw me standing by the fence, in 
conversation with her husband, she exclaimed, 
" O, there is a stranger ; I hope he will not come 
in to see our poverty and misery." She now 
acknowledges that the stranger's steps were 
guided thither by God. She soon placed a table 
before us, neatly covered and furnished with 
those little delicacies that are found ready for 
the expected, or the unexpected guest, in almost 
every New-England cottage, but which sur- 
prised us here, for the house is on a very seclu- 
ded spot, distant from any road, and seldom visi- 
ted. Yet in all this obscurity, affliction, and 
poverty, we w^ere most hospitably entertained. 
Our hostess was not a little disturbed, when it 
was discovered that her insane daughter, Maria, 






20 

had hidden the tea-spoons. As she hastily 
went to the door, and in a very shrill but feeble 
voice, called her amiable little grand-daughter, 
Elizabeth, whose mother is now no more, I 
thought the sharp tones would go through my 
very heart. 

The eldest daughter, the cripple, still remain- 
ed bowed down in her chair by the stove: but 
in the calmness and resignation of her counte- 
nance you might read a delightful eulogy on 
the religion of Jesus. She was feeble in body 
but strong in faith. A heavenly tranquility 
beamed from her countenance, such as the pros- 
perous and happy of the world seldom know ; 
but which is the peculiar gift of the Savior to 
his humble children. And few persons have 
attained to greater humilitjr, meekness, and for- 
bearance than Elizabeth T. Her cousin, the 
ferryman before mentioned, once said to me, 
"Nobody knows the worth of Betsey; nothing 
will offend her, Sir; for I believe she never was 
'pui out in her life." 

It was pleasing to meet in this humble dvvell- 
insf several old and useful books; one of which 
appeared to have been brought over by the Pil- 
grims. Another was the quaint, but, with the 
Society of Friends, very favorite work of Wil- 
liam Penn, entitled, " No Cross, no Crown." 



21 

Thus were these pious people endeavoring- to 
fortify their souls in their present afflictions, by 
steadfas'ly fixing the eye of faith upon the future 
bliss of eternity, and by remembering, as an es- 
timable clergyman once expressed himself in 
the midst of this suffering band, that " Christ 
himself did bear the crown of thorns before he 
ascended to receive the crown of glory." 

After the table was removed, the old man led 
the way into the sick chamber of his other 
daughter, Cynthia. In a small room, contain- 
ing but one window, on a couch, which had 
been her almost constant resting place — resting 
place, did I say? rather, the solitary witness of 
unnumbered hours of the keenest anguish, lay 
her emaciated frame, as it had lain for eleven 
years ! What a lesson for the complaining, 
who, blessed with health, and living in the midst 
of prosperity and comforts, are at a loss for the 
invention of new pleasures ! What a lesson for 
;he sick who suffer lightly, or have not sufTered 
long. O, hear it, ye who murrner at God's al- 
lotments. This afflicted being suffers more than 
imagination cun conceive. Sleep never visits 
her as a balm, but brings, in its momentary ap- 
proaches, visions of horror that are changed, in 
her waking hours, to unspeakable anguish; 
often resembling, to use her own expression, 
4 



22 

"the tearing of twenty pieces of fiesh from her 
person by pincers." Nor is any portion of this 
suffering imaginary, as the heaUhy are some- 
times inclined cruelly to suggest. Many phy- 
sicians have declared her case beyond their 
power, and there are among them men of dis- 
tinguished science, and of well known feeling, 
who cannot read her affecting " Appeal to the 
Faculty," and leave any reasonable measures 
for her relief untried. Yet this suffering and 
comparatively uneducated woman, has been 
able, in reliance upon the promises of God, to 
seek relief by fleeing to her Savior, whom she 
had acknowledged in her heart, though not be- 
fore men, ere she was stretched upon the bed of 
agony. She has devoted a few of her least dis- 
tracted hours, not to the cultivation of the poeti- 
cal genius which God has given her, for this 
talent she hardly seems conscious of possessing, 
but to the simple expression of her feelings in 
the verses, that, during this long period, she has 
dictated chiefly to her father. He alone seemed ^ 
to set a just value on the rich gifts and treasures 
that lay in her mind. 

Of all this, however, we knew nothing. My 
brother approached the bed-side, and seated him- 
self near her head. The few questions he ask- 
ed were not answered without thought, as too 



23 

often happens; for pressing her trembling and 
wasted fingers upon her temples, as if to keep in 
the anguish, she replied, in a low voice, and 
very slowly — "You asic your questions rather 
quickly. Sir; will you have the goodness to re- 
peat the last ?" "Are you perfectly resigned 
to the will oi God ?" She replied, " I fear^Sir, 
I cannot say that I am." This little trait of 
consideration and sincerity deeply interested us, 
and was the first proof we had of the remark- 
able character of her mind. 

At length the solemn voice of prayer arose in 
that humble dwelling. My brother knelt at the 
bed-side, while the old man, according to his 
custom, leaned on the back of his chair. The 
mother was near. The cripple, Elizabeth, 
was placed at the door, but also in the next room, 
for the sick chamber would admit but three. 
Never shall I forget those impressive moments, 
and, least of all, the solemn benedictions in our 
affecting and appropriate service for the " Visi- 
tation of the Sick." " The Almighty Lord, who 
is a most strong tower to all those who put their 
trust in him; to whom all things in heaven, in 
earth, and under the earth, do bow and obey, be 
now and evermore thy defence; and make thee 
know and feel that there is none other name 
under heaven given to man, in whom, and 



24 

through whom, thou mayest receive health and 
salvation, but only the name of our Lord Jesus 
Christ." " Unto God's gracious mercy and 
pi-otection we commit thee: The Lord bless 
thee, and keep thee: The Lord make his face 
to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee : 
The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and 
give thee peace both now and evermore. Amen." 

As we withdrew, I looked through the cham- 
ber window, and thought to myself — How often 
have I gazed upon the ceaseless heaving billows 
of that same ocean, and sailed upon its bosom 
many a weary day, in search of the interesting 
wonders that the world contains, and now I am 
returned to the scenes of my childhood, to find, 
in a cottage, the most interesting of all. Yet 
this Rhode Island Cottage I have often passed, 
in utter ignorance of its inmates. 

It was not till we retired to the other room 
that we discovered the remarkable fact, that the 
sufferer possessed a large share of that gift, be- 
lieved to be a peculiar boon of heaven ; for, to 
our question, " How does your daughter C. pass 
the time?" the old man replied by producing a 
number of well worn and soiled manuscript 
poems. At first we read a hw of them through 
mere kindness to the father ; not thinking that 



25 

so pure a gem had been hidden among these 
barren rocks. 

Unseen and wild the floweret bloomed, 
Within yon beauteous ocean isle, 

The heaving sea, and frowning cliff, 
Alone had seen it smile. 

But in this huip.ble sketch we will say little 
of her poems; for they are now before the 
world, and speak for themselves. Suffice it to 
say, they are the poetry of truth, and are pecu- 
liar, because her sufferings are peculiarly her 
own. 

But we must pause, to acknowledge the good- 
ness of God, who, in taking the father from his 
helpless family, prepared, in the gift bestowed 
upon that very daughter, whose long sickness 
had contributed to reduce them to want, the 
means of support and comparative comfort, for 
enjoymeni they could not expect. 

We departed, leaving a small sum, not as a 
remuneration for their trouble, (for that would 
have deeply wounded the feelings of the good 
old man ) but as the first subscription for the 
poems of his daughter; of whose gifts the fond 
father was justly p'-oud, and in whose goodness 
the veteran Christian deliohted. 

As we crossed the water, 1 said to the ferry. 
man, " William, you have told me of almost 



26 

every thing under the sun ; all that you knew 
about the serpent that had nearly crushed the 
Roman army, and a hundred such things ; — but 
you never said a word of your sick cousin on 
that hill." How full of human nature was his 
answer! "She has been sick a great while, 
Sir." Man becomes hardened to sorrows which 
he often sees, or has long known. The suffer- 
er somewhere says in her poems — 

" The sleepless night, the wretched day, 

To months and years prolonged, 
Drive all one's pitying friends away, 

That once benignant tln'onged." 

It was deeply affecting, as vve sailed smooth- 
l}'- along, to look back upon that cottage. There 
it stood, as quiet upon the gentle elevation as 
any of the neighbouring dwellings. The smoke 
curled as beautifully from its chimney, and, had 
we not just left it, vve might have imagined as 
much prosperity, and happiness, and health, 
dwelt beneath its roof as under theirs. But, oh ! 
we had seen in that lowly habitation sharp dis- 
ease busied in destroying all the hopes of its in- 
mates for this world. This outward tranquility 
and loveliness was but a shadow ; and yet it was 
an emblem, a holy emblem of the rest, and quiet- 
ness, and joy of heaven, which, we trust, to these 



27 



sufferers, and to all the followers of the Lamb, 
shall fiucceed the woes, turmoil, and tumult that 
are within this lower world, and that lie hidden 
under an outward semblance of peace in many 
an afflicted bosom. 

Lowly cottage, farewell! When the end 
shall be, may all thy inmates "look upon Zion, 
the city of their solemnities ;" may their " eyes 
see Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle 
that shall not be taken down." There they will 
no longer need thy humble shelter, for they shall 
inhabit "a city having the glory of God — a city 
that has no need of the sun, neither of the moon 
to shine in it, for the glory of the Lord will 
lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof" 
In that city they shall not be afflicted nor de- 
spised, for they "shall walk with the kings of 
the earth, which bring their glory and honor 
into it; and there they shall obtain joy and 
gladness, for sorrow and mourning shall flee 
away." And there, if we also be numbered 
among the redeemed, we shall need ye no more, 
little boat, and proud ocean, for "the glorious 
Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers 
and streams, wherein shall go no galley with 
oars, r.fither shall gallant ship pass thereby." 

Eighteen montlis rolled away before I could 
again visit this afflictsd family ; during which 



28 

time I had received holy orders. Their situa- 
tion in the interval is touchingly and beautifully 
described by a clergyman who kindly visited 
them. " I heard of an afflicted family in the 
neig-hborhood, and learning that a visit of con- 
dolence would be very acceptable, I determined 
to make one. I was directed to a small house, 
far from any road, on the side of a hill, descend- 
ing to an an:n of the sea, which separates this 
island from the adjoining main-land. The first 
person I saw, on approaching the house, was a 
young woman at the door, who, as soon as she 
perceived me, uttered some incoherent words, 
and disappeared. I knocked ; was admitted, 
and soon introduced to the family. 

" It was composed of a venerable old man, his 
wife, and three daughters. Here I found sick- 
ness, distress, and poverty, in conflict with re- 
ligion, peace, and purity; and I rejoice to say 
the latter appeared to triumph. 

" The old man was feeble, and broken in con- 
stitution and health. His 'hoary head,' how- 
ever, was 'a crown of glory,' for it was found 
in 'the way of righteousness. 

" He had been an officer in the revolutionary 

war, and his last days were made anxious by 

^endeavors to obtain a pension. He succeeded 

about a year since; but has now gone to serve 

a more generous Master. 



2©* 

*• His wife was a confirmed invalid, and c^nJd, 
with the greatest difficulty, discharge her do- 
mestic duties. 

" The three daughters were the principal suf- 
ferers. One was deprived of reason ; the other 
two were emaciated by disease, and had been con- 
fined to their beds, one for two, and the other for 
seven years.* Medical attendance, medicines, 
and loss of time in nursing his children, had con- 
sumed all the property of the good old man, ex- 
cept the small tenement which he occupied, and 
which, ere long, he expected to exchange for a 
still narrower one. But, for the credit of re- 
ligion, and for the comfort of all who may be 
called to pass through 'the fire' of such trials, I 
can say, that this veteran soldier of Christ and 
his family seemed supported by the consolations 
of the gospel. On these I conversed at large, 
and with each member of the family; and I 
endeavored to lighten, by every means in my 
power, the heavy burdens of these poor pilgrims. 

" The father, the mother, and one of the daugh- 
ters appeared cheerful and resigned: but the 
other daughter seemed greatly depressed. She 
had been now seven years on a bed of exquisite 
pain. Her hair had turned gray by the unmiti- 

* She had been ill eleven, and almost bed-ridden seven 
years. 



I 



30 

gated nno-uish of her head. Sleep had long 
deserted her, and she seemed to have been in 
the act of martyrdom for years. Confined for 
so long a time to her bed, incapable of occupa- 
tion or amusement, at times, even of devotion, 
she struggled hard to say, ' Thy will be done.' 
She, however, appeared to confide in God, but 
was destitute of spiritual consolation.* 

" In this state, and in this place, she composed, 
from time to time, the poems which are about to 
be published. They are like the Lamentations 
of Jeremiah, 'or, more truly, like the complain- 
ings of Job; and may serve to make both the 
prosperous and the afflicted more grateful, and 
submissive to the allotments of Divine Provi- 
dence. 

" The poems were composed and committed 
to memory, chiefly in the night; and were com- 
mitted to writing by the father and others, at 
their leisure. 

" A little garden before her window, the sun 
which rose and set, the winds of heaven which 
shook her cottage, and the ocean, whose ' billowy 
anthem' was ever chanting at the foot of the hill, 
afforded the only variety to her thoughts. From 

* She is now entirely resigned to God's will, and 
derives all her comfort from the promises of the gospel 
of Christ.— Juno 28th, 1835. 



31 

these, and from her bodily sufferings she draws 
subjects and illustrations for her muse. She re- 
mains to this day sunk in a bed of anguish, calm 
and patient. Ttie blessed Savior, 1 trust, sits 
beside her, as a ' refiner and purifier of silver ;' 
and when he perceives the work to be complet- 
ed, he will doubtless withdraw the fire. I am 
glad that the poems are to be published, for it is 
always a relief to make known our griefs; and 
I cannot but hope, whether the number of her 
admirers be great or small, that she will, by these 
poems, secure to herself a few sympathizing 
friends. One I am sure she has already made ; 
who remains, dear Sir, 

" Always yours, 

"B. C. Cutler." 

No apology is made for introducing here a 
letter from Cynthia, to a lady, who has been 
most benevolent and active in her cause. 

'^ October 2Sth, 1833. 

*' Dear Madam, 

" I have not strength at present to comply with 
your request respecting an account of the nature 
and progress of my protracted diseases, and of 
my feelings under them, which have been any- 
thing rather than what I could wish ; though at 



32 

all times, in my greatest extremities, I have as- 
suredly believed that the Judge of all the earth 
will do right, and that it is in mercy and compas- 
sion He afflicts ; and have desired to be enabled 
to say, ' It is the Lord ; let him do as seemeth 
to him good.' If ever I am favored with 
strength and composure sufficient, I Avill, with 
the utmost readiness and alacrity, gratify your 
wishes. My dear father is very ill, and to ap- 
pearance fast approaching the bounds of mortali- 
ty — but with prospects full of immortality and 
life. His faith is strong, and his soul sustained, 
in the midst of his bodily distresses, with heavenly 
consolations, and peace that passeth understand- 
ing; which is a great encouragement and sup- 
port to our minds, in the pain and anguish of 
being separated from a kind and precious parent. 
But it is our humble hope and earnest prayer 
that the separation may not be final ; and that 
we may be again united in those blessed abodes, 
where there is no more pain, sin, nor sorrow, 
and where the Lord shall wipe away all tears 
from all eyes; and it is a consoling reflection 
that this will be the happy lot of all those that 
love and obey the Savior. 

♦• With great esteem and cordial regard, 
" Your friend, 

" Cynthia Taggart." 



^3 

As the good old man died shortly after, the 
conclusion of his memoir is inserted. 

"We have experienced a long scene of afflic- 
tion, in the protracted illness of three amiable 
daughters ; one of whom, for a long time, has 
been, and still is, deprived of her reason ; ano- 
ther, for more than ten years, has been, by a 
series of complicated disorders, confined help- 
less to her bed; and a third, who more than 
three years since, on the day of the funeral ob- 
sequies of another sister, was seized with sudden 
illness, has also been confined from that time 
until the last few weeks. Thus, by the accu- 
mulation of misfortunes, I have been compelled 
to relinquish my property to my indulgent credi- 
tors, excepting a sufficiency for procuring a 
small tenement for my suffering family. But, 
what abundant reason have I to pour out my 
soul in grateful acknowledgement to the Author 
of all good, that in the midst of judgment he 
hath remembered mercy; that he has taken my 
feet from the miry clay, and placed them on the 
Rock Christ Jesus. 

" In June, 1804, I united in Christian fellow- 
ship with the Second Baptist Church in New- 
port ; and in September, 1809, was chosen, by a 
unanimous vote, to the office of deacon. As an 
additional motive, to call on my soul to bless 



34 

God's holy name, I have abundant reason to hope 
and firmly believe, that my three afflicted dauo-h- 
ters have found the pearl of great price; and 
when reason shall have regained its empire in 
the mind t)f my afflicted Maria, they will unite 
in pronouncing all things as loss and dross, in 
comparison with the knowledge of their exalted 
Redeemer; and, with devout hearts and imited 
voices, say with the inspired apostle, ' Our light 
affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh 
for us a far more exceedino- and eternal weio^ht 
of glory.' 

"William Taggart. 
" Middletown, R. L October 2ilh, 1833." 

Another gentleman writes, " I left their dwel- 
ling, having witnessed a scene of domestic suf- 
fering, and a form of domestic piety, \vhich 
none can contemplate without being made better. 
The impression of it never will be effaced from 
my recollection. Amidst the discontents and 
repinings of society, I shall often recall the 
spectacle of this suffering family, and think of 
the value of that religion which has been their 
support." 



When, at length, duty brought me near them, 
I inquired of a gentleman at Newpoit, " Do you 



35 

know any thing of William Taggart?" The 
answer was, " He died at one o'clock this morn- 
ing." It was Sunday, and nothing hut the per- 
formance of my appropriate duties would have 
kept me away from them till the next morning, 
when, accompanied by a benevolent lady, I 
again found myself passing over a part of the 
same road. But the family abode was no long- 
er by the seaside ; for the old man had been 
compelled to sell his little farm to pay his debts, 
and had removed to a cottage about four miles 
from Newport, and situated on the principal 
road across the island. 

There he had purchased a small house, with 
a few acres of land. By the assistance of a 
most benevolent gentleman of the city of New- 
York, who is well known for his Christian 
kindness and generosity to the inhabitants of that 
part of the island, the aged soldier had obtained 
a pension, and now hoped to maintain his fami- 
ly honorably and comfortably, when death 
came and took him away, and left his helpless 
wife and children to the Father of the fatherless 
and the widow's God. My brother, in compa- 
ny with the gentleman just mentioned, visited 
the family while the father lay on his dying bed. 

" Will you join with me in the prayers of 



Samuel Ward, deceased. 



.36 

our Church?" said my brother. "By all 
means; in the prayers of your own Church, 
Sir, if you please," said the dying man. He 
listened wilh deep attention, and seemed most 
fervently to pray in the language of that sublime 
and beautiful liturgy, which has, for ages, been 
hallowed by the lips of martyrs, and confessors, 
and holy men of old. When the impressive de- 
votions were ended, the old man exclaimed, with 
the spirit of charity glowing on his countenance, 
" You can't have better prayers than those. Sir." 

The language of the mother was most touch- 
ing. When she siw her friends in their new 
cottage, she forgot all her afflictions, and instead 
of repining, dwelt upon the goodness of God. 
" O! Mr. Ward," she said, clasping her hands to- 
gether, as is her custom when deeply moved, 
"how thankful we ought to be that we have a 
roof over our heads. 

But to resume the thread of the narrative. 
The lady and myself entered the house of mourn- 
ing. The first sight that met our eyes was the 
coffin of the good man, decently placed, and wait- 
ing the last solemn rites. He who had buried 
two beloved daughters but a short time before, 
and had not strength to follow the mother of his 
grand-child, Elizabeth, to the grave, was gone 
to those who could not return to him. 

The cripple was now able to move about the 



37 

house by herself, though not without difRculty» 
supporting herself from chair to chair. She 
met us at the door, recognized me, and soon 
told her mother of our coming. The aged and 
feeble widow seized my hands, joined them to- 
gether, bent over them, and, as I felt the tears 
falling fast upon them, I thought her heart would 
break, as she cried, " He is gone ! he is gone ! 
and what shall I do ?" After the first burst of 
grief had subsided, she began to relate, in the 
midst of her tears^ the circumstances attending 
the last hours of her departed husband. He 
spent them in piously exhorting his neighbours. 
But he had not left this duty to be done on his 
death-bed alone; for nearly thirty years he had 
confessed Christ before men, and he now called 
together those who had witnessed his consistent 
and pious life, that he might close his instructions, 
and having set to them the last hand of faith, 
seal them up in their presence, with the impress 
and glowing hope of a blessed immortality. 
Very often it was supposed that his last moments 
were rapidly approaching, " and when we told 
him," said the weeping wife, "that he would 
wear himself out, he only said, ' let me spend 
my last hours in doing my Master's will ; let me 
tell my neighbors, before I go hence, to be no 
more seen, that they must be ready for the Lord 
4 



38 

at his coming. It will be soon to them also/ 
O, Sir." she continued, "you cannot tell how he 
talked. He was so quiet and resigned. On the 
first day of September he went out of his house 
for the last time, to pick out his grave. But he 
was too weak, and had to come back again very 
soon. Then he said, ' I cannot do it, but my 
friends will do it for me.' He never went out 
again. He wrote that account of his life a few 
days before he died.* He was soon confined to 
his room ; but sometimes, when the neighbors 
came in, he would raise himself up in his bed, 
and talk to them for hours, till we were afraid his 
strength was all gone. And O, Sir, how good 
he talked. He said he was going to a world 
that he had sometimes seen in his dreams, and it 
was so much brighter and better than this world, 
that we must not be sorry for him. One night 
he waked, and told me he thought he had been 
in that glorious world ; that he should soon be 
there indeed, and that when he was gone to the 
better land, I must be comforted, and remember 
he was happier than he was here, and that I 
must get ready to join him. But, O ! now he is 
gone ! What shall I do ? He is gone !" 

But who may measure the depth of this afflic- 
tion to Cynthia ? Her father had been almost 

* See Poems, page xxx. 



39 



the only person for many long, long years who 
had truly and fully sympathized with her ; for 
although others felt for her physical sufferings, 
they were not all well aware of the exalted 
nature of the soul that was bowed down beneath 
this load of bodily agony. It was her father who 
comforted her desponding hours. It was to her 
father that she had dictated those little effusions 
that solaced the weariness of her couch of sorrow. 
It was her father who had read to her the holy 
book of God, and sent up from her bed-side the 
earnest prayer in her behalf. It was her father 
whom she would see in this world no more. 

Elizabeth led the way to her sister's chamber. 
Ascending a steep and narrow staircase, we 
found ourselves in a very small bed-room, nearly 
filled with the couch which the sufferer occupied. 
I approached the head of the bed. She knew 
me. The chill November blast rattled against 
and penetrated the loosened window. " Does 
not this cold wind give you pain ?" " It cools 
my brain'' was her reply. I soon found that 
her mental sufferingfor her father's loss was very 
great ; and though murmurings were repressed, 
I perceived, by the quivering of her lips, that an 
inward agony was there. I spoke of the char- 
acter of the departed; of the victory he had now 
gained in the great battle of his Master; of the 



40 

consolation of the scriptures, giving- hope that 
we shall meet in another world, and recognize 
our friends who have died in Jesus, if only our 
own robes are washed white in the blood of the 
Lamb.* 

At length Elizabeth said, " Cynthia, will you 
tell our friend the lines you made about our dear 
father?" " They are not worthy of being re- 
peated," she replied, ''for they are only my 
feelings.^^ But when I requested it she dictated, 
slowly and distinctly, her trembling hand sup- 
porting her aching head, and I wrote down, from 
her lips, line by line, the following : — 

TO HER FATHER, 

SUPPOSED TO BE DYINO. 

My Father ! sweet thy accents fall, 

And full of tender love ; 
These will thy suffering child recall, 

When thou art blest above. 

Thou didst the words of joy and peace 

With faith and love combine, 
That taught my soul from earth to cease, 

And seek to follow thine. 

Oh ! shall no more my listening ear 
Catch that celestial voice ? 



* 2 Samuel xii. 23; John xiv. 2, 3; 1 Thessalonians 
iv. 13—18; v. 10; 2 Thessalonians ii. 1. 




' i/' ■ i- mm 



' '. 'i.' //, 'a. 



41 

No more thy heavenly converse hear, 
That bade my soul rejoice ? 

Those v^rords of kind parental care, 

Which soothed my bed of pain ; 
That look of sympathy, oh ! ne'er 

Shall I behold again ! 

Where shall thy suffering child repair, 

To seek protection now ? 
Since Death's cold hand, so often near, 

Has touch'd thine honoured brow. 

Where shall this helpless, writhing form 

A kind supporter find ? 
And where, oh ! where, midst Sorrow's storm<, 

Shall rest this struggling mind ? 

Who will, like thee, direct the prayer 

With strong desire to heaven ; 
And grace unto thy children bear. 

To fervent pleadings given ? 

O blessed parent, guide, and friend ! 

Where shall my soul repose ? 
Our sky is dark ; what ills attend ! 

The world no succor showsi 

Where 1 — but alas ! on earth how vain 

To seek a cure for grief; 
Yet One the helpless will sustain ; 

Thy God will give relief. 

Yes, He to whom thy soul shall rise, 

And be for ever blest, 
Will look, in pity, from the skiea, 

And gire thy children rest. * 

4* 



42 

Let any humane heart imagine her situation. 
Separated only by the ceiling, and but a few- 
feet distant from her father, yet that separation 
was for ever in this world. She could not be 
carried to him, and he, for four weeks previous 
to his death, could not come to her. Still she 
could hear his voice as he piously exhorted his 
neighbours, and that voice was to her so dear ! 
She was soon to hear it no more. Often had 
the sorrowful tidings been brought to her, that 
her father was dying, and again he had revived 
While the rest of the family were assembled 
around the bed of the dying man, she could but 
lay in her loneliness and think — " My father 
still lives, but I shall never see him again !" 
Before our departure the funeral guests had as- 
sembled. Among them was a brother of the 
deceased, the dearest uncle of his children. He 
was also laid in his grave a few months after- 
wards, and this bereaved family was left with 
scarcely a human stay. Having looked once 
more upon the countenance of the righteous 
dead, I went away, leaving the mourners to 
" commit the body to the ground, earth to earth, 
ashes to ashes, dust to dust, looking for the gen- 
eral resurrection in the last day, and the life of 
the world to come." 
The Spring had covered his grave with green 



43 

grass, when I next stood by it, and the single 
flower which grew upon it, I plucked, and put 
into Cynthia's hand. The tears stood in her 
eyes as she looked upon and cherished this beau- 
tiful emblem of the resurrection of her father, 
who should arise from the dead to the new life 
of heaven, as this humble flower had re-arisen, 
with the spring, from her father's grave. How 
often she had been lifted up on her pillow, that 
she might look upon the orchard trees, under 
which she had once seen her father walking, 
but he was there no more. 



ON A LITTLE FLOWER, 

AVHICH GREW ON HER FATHER'S GRAVE. 

Sweet flower ! what bright spot gave thee birth^? 

Ah ! my sifk heart repHes, 
It grew upon the hallowed earth 

Where my lov'd parent lies. 

Ah ! must his reverend form, beloved, 

Moulder within the tomb, 
From earth's bright joyous scenes removed, 

In Death's dark rayless gloom ? 

O, blessed parent, whence these tears 

That will not be repress'd ? 
I know thy soul in heaven appears. 

And thou supremely bless'd. 



44 

Before the eternal throne of God 

I know thy spirit dwells, 
And, raptured in that bright abode, 

Sweet hallelujahs swells. 

But still my aching heart will bleed, 

And seek to find thee here ; 
O, father, much thy love I need, 

Forgive the falling tear. 

This blooming flower, June's balmy breeze, 

Recalls to my sad mind, 
Where late I saw, beneath the trees. 

That reverend form reclin'd. 

While sweet benignity and grace 

In that calm aspect shone ; 
Celestial love beam'd in thy face, 

And joys to earth unknown. 

While from those lips, sublimest themes 

In holy ardor flow'd. 
When faith portrayed the glorious scenes 

Of thy divine abode. 

And still those soul inspiring strains 
Ne'er ceased, but with thy breath ; 

When racked thy form with mortal pain, 
Sweet were thy words in death ! 

And may not this bright, golden flower,* 

Be a faint emblem, given 
Of hopes that cheered thy mortal hour, 

Bright with the rays of heaven. 

* This flower la commonly called a butter-cup. 



When at thy last expiring throe. 
Thy soul, on wings of love, 

Burst its confining bondage through^ 
And sought the realms above : 

Beyond the regions of the skies, 
Those bright, immortal plains. 

Where love and pleasure never dies, 
Where Christ the Saviour reigns. 

There has thy ransomed soul, refined, 

With the adoring throng, 
Transported, in their praises joined, 

Their everlasting song. 

And ere that last departing scene, 

When fled thy soul above, 
Thou did'st w^ith hallowed joy serene. 

Dwell on redeeming love. 

How oft, at evening's tranquil hour, 

That heavenly voice I heard, 
When thou, for mercy's healing power, 

The fervent prayer preferr'd. 

While humble thanks, each morning rote, 

As incense to the skies, 
To Him who bore our heavy woes. 

And hears our supphant cries. 

How oft, beside my painful bed, 

Of languishment and grief, 
Thou hast sustain'd my fainting head, 

And sought from heaven relief! 

While sweetest sympathy divine, 
In thy loved aspect shone, 



46 

When press'd my scorching hand in thine, 
And soothed each anguished moan ! 

Thou with what glorious words ! didst raise, 

My drooping thoughts to heaven, 
And teach my soul on Him to gaze, 

Who endless life hath given. 

O, must that look, that voice, no more 

My fainting soul sustain ? 
Must still my aching heart deplore. 

And seek thee still in vain ? 

O, blessed parent, thou can'st ne'er 

To thy sad offspring come ; 
O, may thy helpless child prepare. 

To gain thine heavenly home. 

There meet thee in ecstatic bliss, 

With all the ransomed throng. 
Arrayed in perfect righteousness : 

Join, too, that holy song, 

To Him who fills the throne of heaven, 

The Lamb for sinners slain, 
Be glory, honor, blessings given. 
Eternally — Amen ! 
June 21s«, 1834. 

But she had now wholly given up her own 
will to the will of God. The third chapter of 
the Lamentations of Jeremiah was read to her, 
•• I am the man that hath seen affliction by the 
rod of his wrath," (ver. 1.) The tears fell, but 
they were more chastened than they were two 



47 

years before. All her thoughts, whether ex- 
pressed in the beautiful and appropriate lan- 
guage of her conversation, or flowing in num- 
bers, were evidently resting in heaven. She 
still lives. And who that sits in her little cham- 
ber, or breathes the pure and refreshing air of 
heaven, which in summer surrounds that quiet 
dwelling, can doubt, that the promise " thou wilt 
make all his bed in his sickness," (Psa. xli. 3,) 
will be fulfilled, till she come to the invisible 
land, whose " inhabitants shall not say, I am 
sick." 

TO THE SPIRIT OF MY DEPARTED FATHER. 

O ! blessed Spirit, whither hast thou fled, 
Far from the pleasant earth and smiHng skies, 
No more fresh odors, from the bright morn shed, 
Shall wake thy soul its matin hymn to rise. 

No more that form shall grace the calm repast, 
No more those words of holy ardor flow, 
While beaming faces, with hush'd reverence, cast 
Fond filial glances o'er that honor'd brow. 

No more around the tranquil autumn hearth, 

Where lov'd forms gather as the day dechnes, 

No more in solemn joy or gentle mirth. 

That form—that voice—in the lov'd circle joins. *. 

Far, far away, O desolate abode ! 

That once loved sounds from those blest footsteps gave^ 

Ah ! where is he, for whom each fond heart glows, 

The spirit fled, the lov'd form in the grave. 



48 

Yes, he whose hoary head and reverend brow= 
Deep, holy thought and piety bespoke. 
Whose voice of solemn praises lingers now, 
That in the soul immortal yearnings woke. 

0|holy parent, who thy place shall fill ? 
Who to the household band shall peace restore ? 
Thy chair is vacant, and the lov'd voice still, 
That none shall fill, O never, never more. 

Yet where art thou, O blessed parent, where ? 
In the high heavens, through the Redeemer's blood, 
Chanting high anthems ever glorious there. 
And praise immortal to the Lamb of God. 

LETTERS FROM CYNTHIA TAGGART 

L E T T K R I. 

To a Lady. 

Middletown, R. /., 
Jan. I9tk, 1836. 

Dear Madam. 

After having received from you so many de- 
monstrations of the most pure and disinterested 
kindness, and so many evidences of the deep and 
active interest you have taken in my welfare, 1 
doubt not but you will pardon this intrusion, 
however unexpected and exceptionable it be. I 
now solicit yonr attention a few moments, solely 
from anxiety to learn something of the state 
of so benevolent and worthy a friend, to whom I 
am under the deepest obligations, and for whom I 
feel an ardor of affection, that I am confident no 



49 



language can adequately express. Ever since 
I enjoyed those interesting and highly gratify- 
ing interviews with you, last summer, I have felt 
an ardent and irrepressible desire again to hear 
from so kind and sympathizing a friend ; one 
who has the peculiar and happy ability of con- 
tributing so greatly to the relief of the afflicted, 
and of adapting all her expressions of consola- 
tion and encouragement so exactly lo the state 
of the sufferer ; from whom I have formerly 
received the most exhilirating and scriptural 
epistles, written in the kindest and most sooth- 
ing manner, at a time when most needed, when 
my heart was overwhelmed, when my iiesh 
was exercised with exquisite pain, and my soul 
mourned in the bitterness of hopeless grief, 
Could I again be the recipient of a few similar 
favors, they would be cherished with the most 
grateful affection, and would greatly relieve and 
revive the desponding heart of a wearied sufferer. 
But I do not'utter this expression of my feelings as 
a request, for I am truly sensible I have no claims 
on your kindness, and that all your numerous, 
unmerited, and unrequited favours, have been 
bestowed with the utmost disinterestedness. 
But as you have voluntarily written to me in 
the most friendly manner, when a stranger, and 
as it is now so long a period since we have heard 



oO 

from you, I cannot wholly divest myself of the 
fear, though perhaps you will think it childish, 
that I have in some way offended you, though 
I know not how it can be, as I am certian, if 
my heart could be laid bare to view, there has 
not one thought passed in it respecting yourself 
from the moment I first saw you to the present, 
with which you could be displeased, unless your 
modesty and great Christian humility should in- 
duce you to disapprove the high estimation in 
which my heart holds you, and ever must. But 
I am not only exercised with fears lest I should 
have unconsciously offended you, but lest you 
should be suffering from some severe affliction, 
either personal or relative, and I cannot feel 
any tranquility or comfort when reflecting on 
one so inexpressibly dear and worthy, while in 
uncertainty respecting either. But if neither of 
the three evils I have feared is a reality, a few 
lines, if it would not be repugnant to your feel- 
ings, in affirmation of the same, would relieve a 
heart susceptible of the tenderest sensibilities, 
and alive to the keenest emotions, and would 
add* another to the numerous obligations 
I am already under to the best of friends, and 
would increase my gratitude, which is now, 
and ever will continue inexpressible. My dear 
friend, I hope 1 have not now displeaaed you 



51 

by expressing my childish fears, lest I had for- 
merly done so. I am aware they may be en- 
tirely needless ; but as I feel some anxiety on 
that account, and more still lest you should be 
in affliction, I could not resist the inclination, 
though I am very feeble, of writing, in the hope 
of learning from yourself that you are still in 
the enjoyment of health and prosperity, and that 
all my fears are altogether groundless. But I 
am confident, even if I should have unintention- 
ally offended you, or if you should be in afflic- 
tion, your true benevolence and Christian chari- 
ty will induce you still to pray for so distressed 
and helpless a sufferer and sinner as your poor 
friend, 

C. Taggart. 

Letter II. 

To Mrs. A. R. M , who has been a sufferer 

by sickness more than twenty years. 

April 1st, 1835. 
Dear and venerated Friend, 

With mingled pleasure and gratitude I pe- 
rused your second interesting and very welcome 
letter. It is a favor most dear to my heart to be 
remembered, instructed, and consoled by the 
aged and experienced Christian, especially those 
who have passed through a series of long con* 



52 

tinned and trying afflictions ; but have still, not- 
withstanding the severity of their numerous and 
protracted distresses, maintained firm and un- 
shaken confidence in God, an habitual sense of 
his infinite goodness and compassion, and a 
calm and placid resignation to his righteous 
will. To be made the recipient of epistles 
emanating from the heart of one who has been 
thus refined and purified in the furnace of af- 
fliction, are favors for which I can never ex- 
press nor feel sufficient gratitude. But I am 
sensible it should be my chief concern to en- 
deavor to profit by the favors I receive, and 
to exert my utmost efforts to follow and imitate 
the examples of those whom I so much esteem 
and admire ; those who, through faith and pa- 
tience, are prepared to inherit the promises. O 
that it may be thus ! O, my dear Madam, in 
your fervent aspirations for grace, will you not 
remember your poor afflicted friend, who is 
weary and heavy laden, and ineffectually pant- 
ing after rest ? I doubt not but you do remem- 
ber me in your intercession with the compas- 
sionate Redeemer ; and it is a source of much 
consolation, especially as we find in the words 
of truth, that the effectual, fervent prayers of the 
righteous avail much. My dear and worthy 
friend, I truly and deeply sympathize with you 



57 

consolation, with joy unspeakable and full of 
glory. It is impossible to express the deep 
affection, the little intercourse I have had with 
you has awakened in my heart. Your consol- 
ing letters, so fraught with encouragement and 
instruction, and the purest sympathy, will ever 
be cherished by me as a most valued treasure ; 
and your subsequent kindness in the unwearied 
interest you have taken in gaining subscribers, 
and in many other respects relative to the 
publication of my little poems, demand my 
warmest gratitude, and can never be forgotten. 
My dear friend, may I not hope my heartfelt 
thanks for all these unmerited favors may be 
acceptable to you, however inadequate they 
are to the occasion, and I beg you will be- 
lieve that I feel abundantly more than I can 
express. You have not only conferred your 
precious friendship on a secluded victim of 
sorrow, but you have gained her many most 
excellent and invaluable friends, whom, though 
she may never see, her heart will ever thank 
and revere. In the reply to the first letter I 
received from you, I promised to give a par- 
ticular account of the nature and effects of my 
peculiar afflictions ; but whenever, through the 
winter, I have had strength to write, I have 
been engaged in some little matter that was 



58 

indispensable at the time ; and now the 
warmer season has returned, I think I shall 
not be able, as I am still weaker, and it causes 
a much more painful eflbrt to write or exercise 
deliberate thought. But if I were able, though 
I think the relation could not now interest you, 
I would feel no reluctance in describing both 
my physical and mental suffering, to one who 
is so benevolent and generous, and so richly 
possessed of that holy charity that thinketh 
no evil. My mother, and eldest sister, Eliza- 
beth, request you to accept their best wishes 
and cordial thanks. They remember you with 
great esteem and affection. And, my dear 
friend, may I not request you, through the 
influence of divine charity, to let us have an 
interest in your prayers. 

With great esteem and grateful affection, 

C. TAGGART, 

Letter IV. 
To the same. 

April Uth, 1835. 



My dear Miss 

Your very interesting and welcome letter 
was handed me by Mr. Gammel], who kindly 
called on us, and refreshed us, during his short 



59 

stay, with retined and Christian conversation. 
The feelings of grateful afiection with which I 
perused your most truly affectionate and sym- 
pathizing epistle, and the solace it conferred, 
I can find no language to express. Your for- 
mer kind letter, accompanied by a packet from 
an unknown friend, I also received in safety, 
from each of which I derived much consolation 
and refreshment. Such expressions of tender 
sympathy and affection, though inadequate to 
remove affliction, are indeed precious, particu- 
larly those contained in your last communica- 
tion, coming as they do from one who so fully 
comprehends the nature and tendency of se- 
vere and protracted affliction, and who is so 
intimately conversant with the volume of divine 
truth, and draws from thence such soothing 
considerations, so fraught with large and ample 
consolation and encouragement, and so admira- 
bly adapted to sustain the sufferer, even in the 
furnace of affliction, are favors more dear to my 
heart than all which the unsanctified world 
eould bestow. I do, indeed, my dear friend, 
esteem it among the choicest blessings with 
which I am favored, that the compassionate 
Redeemer has conferred on me the friendship 
and sympathy of some of his most truly devoted 
people, those who most closely and unwearily 



^.0 



follow his own holy and beneficent example ; 
and among the most valued and beloved of 
those highly esteemed Christian friends, per- 
mit me, my dear Madam, to name the honoured 
friend to whom I am writing. O that my 
gratitude were commensurate with my bless- 
sings, both to their divine Author and to those 
benevolent individuals by whom they are re- 
ceived. 1 have indeed greRt cause for gratitude. 
Your ever precious and thrice welcome 
epistles never fail to console, instruct, and sus- 
tain my wayward and desponding soul, and 
however weary and heavy laden, and bowed 
down beneath a weight of accumulated afflic- 
tion, those precious communications invariably 
lighten the load of sorrow, and revive my 
drooping spirits, and even infuse a tranquility 
and peace into my previously overwearied and 
sinking heart, that the world can neither give 
nor take away. O how much, how inconceiv- 
ably much may a kind, intelligent, and sympa- 
thizing friend do to alleviate the distresses and 
sustain the spirit of the sufferer in the midst of 
the most excruciating and protracted afflictions, 
by a free and imreserved participation in their 
sorrows. Several interesting considerations, 
in reference to the afflictions of this life, on 
which you so ably and instructively remark. 



61 

seem worthy of much more attention than they 
generally receive. That this is the only scene 
in which human beings can alleviate the sor- 
rows and administer consolation to the afflicted, 
seems calculated to awaken the dormant sensi- 
bilities of every Christian, and to excite in 
them a fervent desire of doing all the good in 
their day and generation, which it is possible 
to perform in so limited a period ; and as the 
gracious Redeemer not only deigns to accept 
all such kindnesses as are shown to others in 
his name as done unto himself, but has pro- 
mised munificently to reward those who have 
shown the smallest kindness even to the least 
of his suffering people, one would suppose such 
considerations peculiarly adapted to awaken in 
every breast a deep and abiding interest in the 
sufferings of others, and an ardent and un- 
wearied desire of contributing to the alleviation 
of their distresses ; and when they are irre- 
mediable, to pour the healing balm of sympathy 
into the wounded heart of those who are hourly 
struggling to endure with calmness a weight 
of inconceivable and never ceasing distresses, 
and to say, in sincerity of soul, ' Not my will, 
O Lord, but thine be done.' Yet, how little 
assistance many times do the afflicted receive 

from those around them in the endurance of 
6 



62 

their sufferings ! Do you not think that the pre- 
cepts and injunctions of the divine Redeem- 
er, in reference to soothing aud sustaining the 
afflicted, are sometimes strangely forgotten even 
by those who profess to be his followers % 
Many persons seem to suppose that it is ahoays 
imaginary sufferings only to which they are 
called to yield their attention, and in which 
they are desired to participate, and that any 
degree of kindness would infallibly augment 
rather than alleviate them. But I cannot find 
any such caution suggested in the scripture ; 
but we find in those sacred records abundant 
evidence, that this mortal life abounds with a 
great variety of real and deplorable sufferings. 
We learn from thence that mankind ' are horn 
unto trouble,' and that ' great is the misery of 
man ;' that ' his flesh upon him shall have pain, 
and his soul within him shall mourn ;' and the 
numerous injunctions there given to comfort 
the afflicted, to relieve the distressed, sustain 
the helpless, and succor the poor and needy ; 
to remember those who are in bonds, as being 
bound with them, and to bear one another's 
burdens, and so fulfill the laiv of Christ ; and, 
above all, the example of the great Redeemer, 
who invariably evinced the tenderest compas- 
sion towards every sufferer, and the utmost 



readiness to relieve every species of distress, 
seem conclusive, that this over cautious spirit 
is not derived from the holy oracles, but ap- 
parently from a worldly principle of sordid sel- 
fishness, entirely opposite to those inculcated 
by the benevolent Redeemer. Undoubtedly 
there are sufferings occasioned by diseases 
which chiefly affect the imagination, though it 
is fully evident that all are not such ; but even 
these ought not, I should suppose, to be exclu- 
ded from sympathy and tenderness. I have 
known several persons, in such a state, to be 
driven almost, one of them quite, to desperation 
by the harshness with which they were treated 
by their nominal friends and nearest relations. 
But I had actually forgotten that I. was writ- 
ing a letter, and to one of the best and kindest 
of friends. But you will pardon the digressions 
dictated by the feelings of a sufferer, even 
though they may be both erroneous and ill-timed. 
Iwillnow leave this subject, which occasions 
regret, and return, for a moment, to one which 
inspires gratitude. ' The ' packet' which I noticed 
in the commencement of this letter, contained 

two letters ; one from Miss G , of Newbury- 

port, a sick lady, who has suffered long and 

greatly ; the other from Miss P , of Brookline, 

Massachusetts, both very excellent and interest- 
ing epistles, evincive of much Christian sympa- 



61 

thy and affection. I could scarcely realize that 
such productions, so fraught with kindness, were 
from the hands of entire strangers. The first 
mentioned lady sent me a little pincushion, in 
the form of a book, which she had executed 
upon her bed of suffering, and a ring from off 
her own finger, as mementos of affection, and, 
as such, I highly vfl/we them. how precious, 
how inexpressibly precious, enlarged and exalt- 
ed is the principle of pure and holy love ! how 
far surpassing any mere natural affection. In 
this sacred principle, though lowly and unworthy, 
I doubt not but I am embraced, my dear friend, 
b)^ you, and by many others,* to whom, without 
this holy afiection, I should be an object of total 
indifference, if not of aversion. how inesti- 
mable are the privileges of the least and lowest 
of those who are the partakers and subjects of 
this heavenly affection ! I need not request you, 
my dear friend, to remember me, or to write to 
us, whenever it is convenient. I doubt not but 
you will favor me with your valuable epistles, 
which, whether I can answer them or not, will 
ever be more welcome than language can ex- 
press. Please, my dear Madam, to accept, for 
yourself and family, the affectionate regards of 

* See Schiller's beautiful poem addressed to Freude 

(Joy) 



65 

my mother and sister, and of your ever attach- 
ed, C. Taggart. 

P. S. I regret that I have no verses worth 
your perusal, but such as I have I will enclose. 
I have felt so far from writing of late, that I had 
almost forgotten that I had ever written any.* 

Letter V . 

The following letter is printed exactly as written, with 
a very few changes in orthography. 

Maij 23d, 1835. 
Dear and Rev. Sir, 

Your kind letter of May the 5th, was not re- 
ceived till on the evening of the 10th, when, as 
you will perceive, it was too late for my sister to 
reply to your inquiries, as a letter could not have 
possibly been forwarded to you in the short inter- 
val that elapsed between our reception of your 
and your departure from Providence — and to 
have written after your arrival in New York was 
unnecessary. I have continued very ill, much 
as when you were here, till within a few days 
— am now a little recovered, though it is in an 
extremity of pain 1 am now writing, and am so 
oppressed with a faint sickness that every two 
or three minutes my strength, thought, and sight, 

* The lines on the Little Flower, those to the Spirit of 
her Father, a Hymn, and Psalm, accompanied thi;^ letter, 
6* 



66 

entirely fail me, so that 1 am under the necessity 
of lying perfectly motionless and silent for a con- 
siderable time, in order to revive sufficiently to 
proceed with my task. I should not have writ- 
ten thus particularly of my health, but that you 
may perceive that it is not from want of a grateful 
sense of your kindness, nor from reluctance, that 
I have not complied with your request, in giving 
you an exact and minute account of my religious 
feelings from their commencement to the present 
time, but that my distressed and very weak 
state, both of body and mind, render it, at present, 
wholly impracticable ; and besides, many of the 
exercises of my heart are such, that it is very 
difficult to define them ; and many of my early 
religious impressions and feelings are partially 
forgotten ; but I have still a clear recollection of 
the emotions awakened, and the opinions I 
formed, on my first attentive perusal of the 
Prayer Book. I was then about twenty-one 
years of age— I had previously heard, (not from 
my parents,) many things calculated to prejudice 
the mind against the Episcopal Church — most 
that I had heard was from the only member of 
that Church I had ever seen — he informed my 
father, with apparent integrity, that it was the 
general and prevailing custom among the mem- 
bers of the religious community to which he 
belonged, to frequent balls and theatres, and 



0? 

Sill places ui public aiuuseineiit to which the gay 
and accomplished votaries of pleasure resorted ; 
and that even their most devout, and their pastors, 
considered it no sin, nor the least deviation from 
duty. My father, though not then a Christian, 
was much surprised at his relation. He thought 
such apractice evidently opposite to the holy and 
self-denying example of Christ and his apostles, 
and at variance with the principle and spirit of 
the gospel, and a direct violation of its sacred 
injunctions. Of course, after hearing such a 
statement from an Episcopalian, I could not ex- 
pect, on taking up the Prayer Book for the first 
time, to find in its pages the pure and undefiled 
religion of the Bible. I was, therefore, greatly 
surprised on perusing it, to find its doctrines and 
precepts wholly evangelical — that it contained 
much of the holy word of God — and the purest, 
most scriptural, and deeply impressive forms of 
devotion I had ever read or witnessed. I par- 
ticularly admired the clear and comprehensive 
manner in which the most important doctrines 
of the Bible are set forth in the Articles, and 
many other parts of the book — the doctrines of 
the three equal persons in the adorable Trinity 
— the depravity and utter helplessness of man — 
his state of condemnation and exposure to the 
wrath of God — his absolute need of an Almighty 



as, ' 

Savior, and of an entire change of heart wrought 
by the effectual operation of his Holy Spirit, in 
order ever to be raised from degradation and 
wretchedness to a state of reconciliation with 
God, and of eternal blessedness — were, I found, 
so constantly and clearly brought forward and 
inculcated, that it seemed impossible they should 
be misapprehended or confounded, or but what 
any sincere inquirer after truth must derive spiri- 
tuahbenefit and more scriptural views from an 
attentive perusal of them. The various prayers, 
thanksgivings, and praises, seemed peculiarly 
adapted to show mankind their own character — 
to convince them of their lowliness and vileness 
in the sight of an infinitely holy God — of their 
entire dependence on Him for every good, both 
temporal and spiritual, and of their especial need 
of th© inspiration of his Holy Spirit, in order to 
serve Him acceptably and profitably to them- 
selves. The service for the burial of the dead, 
and the communion service, I thought surpassed 
anythingthat could have been composed by man, 
or selected from the scriptures for those solemn 
and deeply interesting occasions. Of the service 
for infant baptism, as my judgment was then 
immature, I formed no decided opinion ; but my 
views of the general influence, beauty, and utility 
Df the Prayer Book, which were then formed, I 



^9 

have ever continued to entertain ; and of the 
small part on which I was then undecided, I 
presume not now to express my opinion. Yet 
I think, as I have ever thought, since I became 
interested on religious subjects, that it is highly 
important, and a positive duty, that children 
should be religiously instructed as early as prac- 
ticable, and trained up in the nurture and admo- 
nition of the Lord. But it seems hardly proba- 
ble that these duties, in all cases, would be con- 
scientiously performed, unless they were re- 
quired and inculcated by the Church. My 
judgment of the different modes of baptism was 
derived entirely from an attentive perusal of the 
Bible, from which I was led to conclude that 
immersion was chiefly practised by the apostles 
and their followers. I never read any work in 
favor of this mode of baptism, nor ever heard 
my father, or any one else, converse particularly 
on the subject. I have heard it incidentally 
mentioned, but no more. All that my father 
ever endeavored to impress on the minds of his 
children and family, was the importance and ne- 
cessity of a studious and prayerful attention to 
the Holy Scriptures, and of earnestly seeking 
an interest in Christ, in the way that God had 
there appointed. His example, in being him. 
self baptized by immersion, was all that could. 



70 

in any degTee, have influenced my judgment, 
I have read several treaties in vindication of 
other modes of baptism, in which the writers 
endeavor to prove, by the original languages of 
the Scriptures, that effusion or sprinkling was 
the prevailing practice in the apostolic and 
early ages ; still there is no material change in 
my opinion : if the general correctness of the 
received translation of the Bible can be depended 
on, I still think immersion the primitive practice. 
But as it is the opinion of many excellent per- 
sons that the mode is not essential, I can readily,. 
in this respect, submit my judgment to theirs ; 
more especially as sickness, and other causes, 
may render one mode impracticable, other modes 
would seem allowable. From the period when 
I first became acquainted with the value and ex- 
cellence of the services and institutions of the 
Episcopal Church, I have thought much on the 
tendency of those solemn forms of worship, to 
awaken in the mind of the Christian a devotional 
spirit, to humble the natural pride of the heart, 
and to purify and elerate the affections, and fix 
them devoutly on God. They seemed, also, 
more calculated to suitably and religiously afliect 
the mind of the unregenerate, than those devo- 
tional services which are uttered exclusively 
by the minister. They possessed, in my view,. 



71 

peculiar appropriateness and adaptation to the 
nature and necessities of man, and to the digni- 
ty, holiness, and condescending mercy of their 
Creator and Redeemer, and admirably suited to 
solemnize the mind, and deeply impress it with 
a sense of the immediate presence of a holy and 
heart-searching God, and of the pure and spiri- 
tual worship due to his infinite perfections ; and, 
through the grace of the Redeemer, to increase 
that faith which works by love, and purifies the 
heart, and overcomes the world. And, at that 
time, I felt a desire of attending the services, 
and enjoying the privileges of that excellent 
Church of Christ, for which I have ever con- 
tinued to feel a degree of preference, though I 
was then, and for many subsequent years, wholly 
unacquainted with any of its members, with the 
exception of the individual before alluded to. 
Yet I felt, and still increasingly /ee/, an ardent 
affection for the Baptists with whom I have as- 
sociated, on whose preaching I have attended, 
and by whose prayers and Christian counsel 
and conversation I have been enlightened and 
consoled, and highly esteem and reverence them 
as a Christian community. I have long since 
fe!t convinced, that if I enjoyed a firm and abid- 
ing persuasion that I were a real member of 
Christ's spiritual body, I should feel no hesita- 



72 

tioD, but could, with pleasure and with profit, 
become araemberof either of the three churches, 
with whose doctrines and practice I have had 
an opportunity of becoming acquainted — the 
Episcopal, Baptist, and Presbyterian : the be- 
lief of these churches on the most important 
doctrines of the Bible, and all that is essential 
to salvation, is, I believe, generally considered 
the same ; and those points on which they differ, 
seem, from the conclusion I have drawn from 
scripture, comparatively unimportant, and such 
as may, allowably, be left to the different judg- 
ments of men, who conscientiously desire to 
obey their Lord and Savior in all things. And 
if they were thus left, without acrimonious dis- 
putes and uncharitable controversies, could not 
much more good be done, and much more in the 
spirit of the gospel, and far less occasion given 
to the enemies of the Lord, to pour reproach on 
the religion of Christ, if Christians generally 
and unitedly directed their efforts to convince 
mankind of their sin and danger while in a state 
of alienation from God, and of their need of 
seeking an immediate reconciliation through 
the atoning blood of the all-gracious and all-suf- 
ficient Redeemer, by whom alone they can es- 
cape everlasting destruction, and be made meet 
for the inheritance of the saints in light. 1 have 



73 

often felt deeply pained on hearing or reading 
harsh and reproachful expressions from one de- 
nomination of Christians against another, and 
have wondered much that those who are re- 
deemed by the same precious Savior, should 
evince no more love for each other, and no more 
concern for those who are in a state of unbelief 
and enmity to God, and consequent danger of 
eternal misery. Cowper says, speaking of man- 
kind in general, that ' brethren in calamity 
should love ;' how much more, it would be 
thought, should brethren in Christ, who are all 
partakers of the divine nature, renovated by the 
same grace, and members of the same spiritual 
kingdom, and all anticipating the joys of eternal 
blessedness — how much more it would, natu- 
rally, be thought, should such love each other 
with a pure heart, fervently ; that they would be 
pitiful, tender-hearted, ybriemn^ one another, 
and forgiving one another in love, even as God 
for Christ's sake had forgiven them. Undoubt- 
edly many Christians are actuated by this holy 
and fervent affection ; but it seems not so gene- 
rally prevalent, as the sacred volume, from 
whence all derive their hopes and happiness, 
commands and inculcates. 

But I was not aware, until the present mo- 
ment, that I am exceeding your wishes. You 
7 



74 

desired an account of my early religious feel- 
ings, while, though I have not been able minute- 
ly to give it, I have been venturing to express 
my feelings at random. Yet I know that I need 
not apologize to so kind a friend. But I must 
earnestly request you, as a friend, not to make 
what I have written in any degree public, unless 
you will first have the kindness to amend or ex- 
punge whatever is amiss, as it is impossible, in 
my very suffering state, to collect my thoughts 
and confine them to one subject, or to arrange 
my expressions in a clear and intelligible man- 
ner. I am, indeed, extremely weak, and while 
writing, have daily* felt exhaustion, even to 
faintness. I know not exactly, for what pur- 
pose you wished this written, but confide it to 
your care, with the again repeated request, that 
you will erase or correct all that is inconsistent 
or unsuitable before you make any exhibition of 
it whatever, if such should be your intention ; 
which favor will be ever gratefully acknowledg- 
ed by me. 

It is very uncertain whether I can come to a 
conclusion to embrace the ordinances of religion. 
My unfitness is the great obstacle, which no hu- 

* It will be perceived, by comparing the dates, that 
this letter was written in the course of thirteen days, a 
circumstance which requires no comment. 



76 

man friend, however interested in my welfare, 
can remove. Yet I know there is One who can 
remove it, but as I do not enjoy the comfort of a 
clear apprehension of Christ, I fear it would be 
presumptuous to become a member of his Church, 
I know not at present how to decide. I desire 
to be directed by that Spirit which will guide 
me into all truth. Dear Sir, will you do me the 
kindness to continue your prayers in my behalf. 
that I may yet have peace and joy in believing. 
Dear and honored Sir, 

Your deeply indebted friend, 

C. Taggart. 
June 5th. 

Letter VI. 

To a Lady. 

My DEAR, BELOVED FrIEND, 

It is impossible for me to give you an idea of 
the gratification and comfort the perusal of your 
interesting and excellent writings has afforded 
me. I have read them till my eyes are sight- 
less, and am obliged to desist through utter in- 
ability to discern a syllable ; but I wish to re- 
tain them, if it meets your approbation, till I can 
have an opportunity of reading them again and 
again ; they have afforded me so much conso- 
lation, and are so soothing to my feelings — par- 



76 

ticularly your remarks on the afflictions of Job, 
and the unhappy addition to his distresses^ 
caused by the arguing of his friends from per- 
verted principles of judgment, and applying ta 
his case what was entirely inappropriate ; and 
also the precious consolation and benefit afford- 
ed the afflicted by a truly sympathizing and be- 
nevolent friend ; one whose soul is filled with a 
portion of that holy charity that glows in the 
breast of the Savior, and who can, without in- 
credulity, enter deeply into the feelings of 
others, and in the fulness of Christian sympathy 
and compassion, participate in their sorrows, 
and pour the balm of consolation into the wound- 
ed spirit of the sufferer. These remarks are 
indeed refreshing to my spirit — they are just 
what I have always wished to find when read- 
ing works adapted to the state of the afflicted, 
and are so peculiarly applicable to my case and 
feelings, that they could not have been more so. 
I feel it a great privilege and blessing-, that I 
have been permitted to see them; and I beg 
you would accept my heartfelt thanks, both for 
these and the sweet solace and support I have 
derived from your two last precious visits. I 
know it will be gratifying to your benevolent 
and sympathizing mind, to know you have af- 
forded comfort and happiness to a tried and 
weary sufferer. 



77 

I deeply regret that I cannot have one more 
opportunity of seeing you before your departure 
from our island ; but I wish to be thankful for 
what I have already enjoyed. I am of such a 
singular make, or it may be in some measure 
owing to debility, that I cannot enjoy much in 
conversation, nor be intelligible to others, un- 
less I am alone with one person ; then I feel 
free and familiar, and enjoy conversation great- 
ly. But if only two or three, even our best 
friends, are present, my thoughts and feelings 
seem suspended, and I am incapacitated for any 
enjoyment. Always, from my earliest child- 
hood, 1 derived much more pleasure from being 
in company with only one person ; but since I 
have been so greatly debilitated, it seems es- 
sential not only to my comfort, but to my being 
able to make myself understood. But, indeed, 
this is too trifling a matter to write upon, but I 
know you will have the kindness to excuse it. 
The last morning you visited us I deferred bid- 
ding you good-bye till I had bade good-morn- 
ing to Mrs. Cutler and Miss JuHa,*as I per- 
ceived they wished to go immediately down, 
and with the hope that I might enjoy your com- 
pany a few moments longer, while they were 
speaking with the rest of the family ; but as 
my expectations were disappointed, I lost the 
7* 



78 

opportunity of informing you what a comfort 
your conversation and letters have been to me, 
and what a deep sense I have of your kindness ; 
not only your precious sympathy, but the be- 
nevolent interest you have taken in promoting 
the publication of the little Poems. But 1 beg 
you would now accept my acknowledgments 
for all these favors^ and believe that it is ut- 
terly impossible for me to express half the af- 
fection and esteem I feel for you, or half my 
gratitude to one of the best of earthly friends. 
May you ever enjoy a holy peace in your soul 
and ease in your body, and at last have an 
abundant entrance administered unto you to the 
heavenly kingdom. Remember your joyless 
but greatly obliged friend, 

Cynthia Taggart. 

My mother's and sister's love to you. Please 
to remember me with respectful regard to your 
worthy family, and to the lady from whom I re- 
ceived a letter of consolation enclosed in one 
from you. If it would not be asking too great 
a favor, I would request you to write to me 
whenever it is convenient. 

The preceding was written with the hope of 
its reaching you while you continued in our 
neighborhood, as the last time I saw you, owing 



79 

to the shortness of the time, and the confusion 
of my mind, I could not say much that I wish- 
ed — and there is still much that I wish to say ; 
though I have great reason to fear you will be 
weary of perusing it ; but I hope and believe 
you will kindly excuse the inconsistent and sin- 
gular expressions of a mind ever wearied and 
oppressed with its tortured and agonized body. 
The excellent and truly pious family to whom 
we are indebted for our introduction to your- 
self and many other excellent friends, from 
whom we have received abundant kindness, 
still continue to visit us, notwithstanding it 
must be, we think, an unpleasant task, owing 
to our being entirely illiterate and uncuUivated ; 
but they are filled with holy charity and com- 
passion — with the spirit of him who went about 
doing good. It is truly astonishing to us, and 
ever will continue to be so, that such a superior 
family, endued with every excellence, and blest 
with every earthly blessing, should, notwith- 
standing the great contrast in our stations, and 
when entire strangers to us, condescend to 
visit us from the time they first heard of us, and 
participate and sympathize in our afflictions, 
and soothe our distresses, and continue to af- 
ford us every relief, both temporal and spiritual 
that the most exalted and highly favored human 



80 

beings can bestow. Surely while we retain 
the sentiments and feelings of rational beings, 
we can never cease to feel the most heartfelt 
and overflowing gratitude for such abundant and 
unmerited kindness; and it is not in the power 
of language to express the great esteem and 
ardent affection that we feel for those devoted 
and self-denying followers of a crucified Sa- 
vior. may they all, with you, my dear, pre- 
cious friend, receive His choicfest blessings 
both now and evermore. C. T. 

" I am far from forgetting, neither shall I ever 
forget, the great obligations we are under to the 
worthy and benevolent Mr. D. [T. W. Dorr, 
editor of the first edition of her poems.] 

Letter VII. 

To a Lady. 

My dear Miss , 

You cannot conceive how anxious I feel that 
your valuable, I would say if you would permit 
me, invaluable ' Tract,' might be published. I 
think it would do great good in the world. I 
believe there are very few persons that consider 
how important and essential it is to have an in- 
timate knowledge of the case of the afflicted, 
and to enter deeply into their feelings, in order 
to console and strengthen the tried and wearied 



81 

spirit. I think many Christians offer consola- 
tion and exhortation at random, and apply ob- 
servations and remarks to the case of the suf- 
ferer that are so inappropriate, they cannot fail 
of wounding the feelings deeply. I have reason 
to conclude, from my own experience, that many 
excellent Christians visit the afflicted with a 
sincere desire to alleviate their sufferings, but 
owing to having no apprehension of their pecu- 
liar case, or at least a very superficial one, 
they not only fail of alleviating, but greatly in- 
crease their sufferings, and perhaps cause the 
objects of their kindest solicitude a sleepless 
and agonizing night ; and sometimes so deeply 
wound the feelings, as to fill the soul with al- 
most insupportable anguish ; and this increase 
of imhappiness is caused by Christian friends 
who ardently desire to relieve, and think, and 
are confident that they have said what was best 
and most calculated to afford it ; and if they 
find they have failed to relieve, they either at- 
tribute it to the perversity of the sufferer, or to 
a causeless depression of spirits, when it is 
neither, but solely because they do not compre- 
hend the peculiar state of the individual with 
whom they have conversed ; and as they do 
not apprehend, so neither can they feel a sym- 
pathizing participation in the sufferings they 



83 

would fain relieve. I think your excellent 
treatise on the importance of Christian sympa- 
thy, would be instructive and beneficial to all, 
and increase the usefulness of the best of 
Christians, as you clearly show in the case of 
Job and his friends, that an intimate knowledge 
of the peculiar stale of the afflicted, as intimate 
as ' finite natures are capable of,' is essential, in 
order to do much good, and to appropriately ap- 
ply the precious balm afforded in the gospel to 
the weary, wounded soul. I do most anxiously 
hope it will be published, solely that it may do 
good. how I long to see you ! There is 
nothing but what I would willingly, gladly suf- 
fer, if I might have the privilege of seeing and 
hearing you converse two or three hours. I 
never met with any person that could enter so 
deeply into my feelings, or with whom I could 
converse so freely, though many excellent and 
sympathizing Christians have condescended to 
converse with me with the utmost kindness, 
and manifested a heartfelt and consoling inte- 
rest in my afflictions, to whom I feel under un- 
speakable obligations, and love and reverence 
with all my heart ; but you have been afflicted 
in a peculiar manner, and know how, with an 
unusual and sweet appropriateness, to speak a 
word to those that are weary. may you 



83 

continue, through the blessing of the Lord, still 
to relieve and comfort His afflicted people. It 
is impossible for language to express the sweet 
relief and solace you have afforded my tried 
and wearied mind. O may you ever receive 
the abundant blessings promised to those that 
succor and console the afflicted and distressed ! 

C. Taggart. 



The following poems, like those *' On the 
Little Flower," "To the Spirit of my departed 
Father," &c., were written after the second 
edition of her Poems was published. See note, 
page 65. 

PSALM CXXXVII. 

By the rivers of Babylon silent we mourned, 
As the cool shades of evening in calmness returned ; 
But our thoughts lost in grief", no sweet relief find, 
No ease for the captive, no balm for the mind. 

O bitter the tear drops that silently fell, 

As we thought of loved Zionand sighed sad farewell! 

And bursting the sigh from our bosom arose, 

As the wild heaving billow tempestuously flows. 

Our harps once our joy on our festival days, 
No more shall resound with the sweet warbled lays ; 
In this land of the stranger for ever unstrung, 
Neglected as now, on the dark willows hung. 



84 

While we thought of our country, by tyrants possessed, 
And wept for our monarch in bondage unblest, 
Then our victors triumphant derided our pains, 
Saying, " Sing us your Zion's mellifluous strains." 

No, never the captive shall sing the pure song 

Of the Lord, while degraded the heathen among; 

No, silent for ever my voice shall remain, 

And my heart never vibrate with sweet sounds again. 

If e'er her loved song from my harp should be poured, 
May the hand cease to move that awakens the chord ; 
And my tongue in mute silence remorse ever keep, 
If I sing while the loved of Jerusalem weep. 

Remember, O Lord, the derision and scorn, 
That thy children in silence and anguish have borne ; 
When our enemies, shouting, rejoiced in our wo. 
When they saw thy loved city deserted and low. 

Oh! daughter of Babylon,wasted with grief 
Thou too soon shalt be, and shalt find no relief; 
Thy children shall perish by vengeance in store. 
And thy fame and thy glory avail thee no more. 

HYMN. 

Almighty God ! enthroned on high. 

Creator, Sovereign, Lord, 
Look on a soul condemned to die, 

Save from thy righteous sword. 

Thy holy precepts, just and kind. 

This soul can ne'er fufill, 
For sin has veiled my darkened mind, 

And captive led my will. 

My soul was guilty, ruined, lost. 
When first I drew my breath. 



85 

And far from God through Yii'e hath past 
Near to the gates of death. 

But hast thou not, for ruined souls. 

Proclaimed thy sovereign love, 
And sent thy co-eternal Son, 

Down from the realms above 1 

His holy soul thy precepts loved, 

And magnified thy law, 
The curse sustained, from man removed, 

Thy justice asks no more. 

O then let mercy melt my heart. 

Create anew my soul, 
A taste of love divine impart. 

And all my powers control. 

Then will this ransomed spirit give 

Eternal thanks to thee, 
And glory to that sovereign love, 

That bare the curse for me. 

MISSIONARY HYMN.* 

Blessed heralds of salvation, 

Jesus' mandate now fulfill ; 
Vi?it every distant nation, 

And proclaim His gracious will : 

To the sterile polar regions, 

To the tropic islands haste ; 
Till the Rose of Sharon blossom 

In each wild, uncultured waste. 

* Written after a verbal account, by Mr. R., of the departure 
for China of the Rev. Peter Parker, M. D. 

8 



86 

Haste, and bear Immanuel's story 
Where the Pagan idols stand, 

Till the radiance of His glory 
Shall illume each heathen land — 

Till each erring soul benighted, 
Shall the Savior seek in prayer. 

And a holy hope be lighted 
That shall reign for ever there. 

Where the raging passions torment, 
And vi^here human blood is spilt, 

There proclaim the great atonement 
That shall cancel human guilt: 

Let His Word of Life be given, 
And His dying love proclaim, 

Till the savage heart be riven, 
And adore the Savior's name. 

Bear the news of grace and pardon 
O'er each sea to every strand, 

Till you cross the sea of Jordan, 
And behold the promised land : 

Then at Christ's right hand ascended, 
Where celestial joys abound, 

Toil and every trial ended, 
Be with life eternal crowned. 



A P P E xN D I X . 

A. 



CYNTHIA TAGGART. 

Seldom does woman have an opportiniity of becoming 
a heroine in action— it is only in the calm endurance of 
afflictions that the strength of her soul is tested ; and fe- 
male genius never appears so lovely as when, like the 
trodden chamomile, it springs apparently from the very 
pressure that threatens to destroy it. 

Look on the mild face of the sufferer represented in the 
picture.* For twelve long years the original has been 
confined to her bed, oppressed by a most excruciating 
disease, which for months together has deprived her of 
all natural rest, and rendered the most powerful opiates 
necessary in order to lull her into a momentary slumber. 
The physician's art has wholly failed to reach her case, 
and the tender care of her friends has been exhausted in 
vain to relieve her. And yet, while lying in this deplor- 
able and hopeless situation, she has accomplished what 
will entitle her name to a record among the good and 
talented daughters of America. 

The history of Cynthia Taggart is a record of sufferings 
endured ; but these have been'ennobled by pious feelinffs 
and sublime meditations, and the sighings of her wound- 
ed spirit she has breathed upon the harp of poetry in 
some of the suddest, sweetest strains, such as only a mind 
of a high order, and a bean of exquisite sensibility, could 
have framed and poured forth. 

Before we proceed to gratify our readers with a speci- 
men from her poems, we must give a sketch of the writer. 

* See the American Ladies' Magazine, edited by Mrs. Sarah 
J. Hale, B.'ston. The extiacls above are from the Numb (;r for 
March, 1835. 



88 

She is a native of Rhode Island. Her father, William 
Taff^^art, was a soldier of the Revolution; one ot the 
patnotic defenders of his country in the tunes that tried 
men's soulr^. During the occupation of the island by the 
British troops the greater part of the property ot the 
Tao-aart family was destroyed, thus reducing them from 
affluence to poverty ; but when, at the conchision of the 
war, they found their beloved country free, their own 
individual losses and privations were scarcely counted as 
misfortunes. Young William Taggart purchased a form 
about six miles from Newport, at the south-eastern ex- 
tremity of the island, erected a small house on the side ot 
a hiP which descends precipitately to the sea and here 
he established himself, living in almost hermit-hke retire- 
ment. His wife was an amiable and pious woman, and 
tog..ther they labored to support and educate, in the 
principles of pure religion, their family of daughters. 
Cynthia was the youngest, and-but we must let her tell 
her own story-it comes from her pen with a simple 
pathos, which would be marred by any alteration we 

could give it. ^ i i • „f ^c 

' During infancy and childhood I was the subject ot 
emaciating disease, and suifered much from pain and de- 
bility ; but, when health permitted, I occasionally attended 
school, during the summer season only, from my sixm 
to my ninth year, and six or eight weeks several years 
afterwards, to study geography and grammar. My 
knowledge of writing and arithmetic was acquired at 
home, as also that of grammar and geography with the 
above mentioned exception. I had likewise some oppor- 
tunity, which was sedulously improved, of attending to 
the interesting study of astronomy, natural and civil 
history, and of reading the works of esteemed authors on 
important subjects ; but have been chiefly debarred, by 
sickness and indigence, from the advantages ol education, 
for which, during childhood and youth, 1 longed with an 
intensity of desire, that was acutely pamful. But tor 
many years past 1 have resignedly acquiesced in the 
allotments of Providence; believing assuredly, that all 
things are ordered in infinite mercy, and that the decrees 
of the all-wise Creator are righteous altogether. 

• From the earliest time I caa recollect, I was, though 



89 

not melancholy, of a meditative and retired habit, and 
found much more amusement in yielding my mind to a 
pleasing train of fancy, and in forming stories and scenes 
according to my inclination, than in the plays, in which 
the children with whom I associated took delight. And 
during the whole of my childhood and youth, previous 
to my incurable illness, I derived incomparably more 
entertainment and delight from these mental reveries, 
and in silently contemplating the beauties and wonders 
of the visible creation, than in associating with my youth- 
ful companions ; though I was not averse to society, 
especially that in which I could find a congenial spirit, 
and such I highly enjoyed. My favorite amusements 
were invariably found, when health permitted, in view- 
ing and admiring the varied and soul-filling works of the 
great Creator ; in listening to the music of the winds 
and waves with an ineffable and indefinable delight; in 
reading books that were instructive and interesting; in 
pursuing, without interruption, a pleasing train of 
thought; and in the Elysian scenes of fancy. My em- 
ployments were chiefly of a domestic kind, and my incli- 
nations and habits those of activity and industry. I had 
never the most remote and vague apprehension, that 
my mental capacities, even if cultivated, vvere competent 
for productive eiforts : with few exceptions, it was not 
till several years after the commencement of excruciating 
illness, that my thoughts and feelings were committed to 
paper, in the form of poetry ; and the sole cause of the 
production of m%ny little pieces, since that period, was, 
that in them my mind found some small relief from the 
pressure of incessant suffering, though, from the pre- 
valence of bodily langor, it was possible to derive only 
transient amusement from thus occupying ray thoughts; 
if longer persisted in, partial faintness and an insup- 
portable agony of the brain ensued. 

' I was frequently, during childhood, the subject of re- 
ligious impressions, especially when hearing or reading 
of the love of Christ, the depravity of the human heart, 
and the happiness or misery of a future state. But these 
impressions were fleeting ; and it was not till my eigh- 
teenth year, that any abiding seriousness was produced 
in my mind : when I became deeply impressed with the 



90 

supreme excellence and importance of religion, and 
greatly desirous that my dark and alienated mind might 
be enlightened by the Spirit of Truth, and brought into 
a sacred nearness to the Savior of sinners, — that my soul 
might be renovated, and entirely conformed to the holy 
will of God, and that I might live a devoted and useful 
life. And for a short time I bc;lieved I had experienced, 
in part, what I so anxiously desired ; but I have never 
derived that peace and consolation from religion which 
Christians in general enjoy, and which it is so amply 
adequate to afford. But if I have not been the subject 
of renovating grace, and of those holy illuminations that 
are essential to the divine life, it is my earnest and supreme 
desire that I yet may be, and that my soul, in life and in 
death, may be entirely resigned and conformed to the 
righteous will of the all wise God and Savior. But 
though I have failed of obtaining that enjoyment and 
holy delight, which the principles of religion in ordinary 
cases uiFord, yet through a series of the deepest afflictions, 
thev have been my sole support. When in the bloom 
of youth with a high relish for the tranquil and delightful 
amusements of early life, and an ardent desire of im- 
provement, I was at once deprived of every earthly 
enjoyment, and of almost all thai could render life toler- 
able, — doomed to the endurance of perpetual bodily 
anguish, — and, while writhing upon the bed of languish- 
ing, deprived even of the sweet and soothing influence 
of sleep, the all-important support and restorative of 
exhausted and decaying nature. In thi midst of these 
deplorable calamities, a firm belief in the doctrines of the 
gospel has sustained my spirit, and endued my soul with 
strength to bear, with a measure of composure end 
resignation, these long protracted and inconceivable 
sufferings. 

' But in order to give a more explicit account of the 
nature and progress of this afflictive dispensation, I must 
revert to the period of its connnencement, which was 
that of my existence ; from which, and during infancy 
and childhood, I was so extremely sickly, that my parents 
had no hope of my attaining mature years ; and though 
blessed, from my sixth year, with a degree of strength 
that enabled me occasionally to attend school, and after- 



91 

wards to engage in active employment, yet my slender 
constitution was frequently assailed by disease, from my 
birth to my nineteenth year. Shortly after this period, 
I was seized with a more serious and alarming iilnesa 
than any with which I had hitherto been exercised, and 
in the progress of which my life was for many weeks 
despaired of But after my being reduced to the brink 
of the grave, and enduring excruciating pain and ex- 
cessive weakness for more than three months, it yielded 
to snperior,medical skill; and I so far recovered strengih 
as to walk a few steps, aud frequently to ride abroad, 
though not without a great increase of pain, and ahnost 
inadclening agony of tlie brain, and a total deprivation of 
sleep for three or four nights and days successively. 

'From this time a complication of the most painful 
and debilitating chronic diseases ensued, and have con- 
tinued to prey upon my frail system during the sub- 
sequent period of my life, — from which no permanent 
relief could be obtained, either through medicine, or the 
most judicious regimen, — natural sleep having been 
withheld to an almost if not altogether unparalleled de- 
gree, from the first serious illness throughout the tv;elve 
subsequent years. This unnatural deprivation has 
caused the greatest deb lity, and an agonizing painfulness 
and susceptiliility of the whole system, which I think can 
neither he described nor conceived. After the expira- 
tion of a little more than three years from the above 
mentioned illness, the greater part of which period I was 
able to sit up two or three hours in a day, and frequently 
rode, supported in a carriage, a short distance, though, 
as before observed, not without great increase of pain, 
and total watchfulness for many succeeding niiihts, — I 
was again attacked with a still more acutely painful and 
dangerous malady, from which recovery for several 
weeks seemed highly improbable, when this most alarm- 
ing complaint again yielded to medical skill, and life 
continued, though strength has never more returned. 
And in what agony, in what excruciating tortures, and 
restless languishing the greater part of the last nine years 
has been pa.ssed, it is believed by my parents that lan- 
guage is inadequate to describe or the human mind to 
conceive. During both the former and latter period of 
these long-protracted and uncompromising diseases, 



92 

every expedient that has been resorted to, with the bliss- 
ful hope of recovery, has proved, not only ineffectual to 
produce the desired result, but has, invariably, greatly 
aggravated and increased my complicated complaints ; 
from which it has been impossible to obtain the smallest 
degree of relief that could render life supportable, and 
preserve the scorching brain from phrensy, without the 
constant use of the most powerful anodynes.'* 

How wonderful is the power of genius ! There are 
thousands of young ladies in our land, who enjoy the ad- 
vantages of j education, and society, and health, and yet 
how few among these could indite a strain, which, in all 
that constitutes the beauties of poesy, would equal the 
following breathing of ' The Heart's Desire,' from this 
uneducated, poor, stricken, suffering girl. 

" Essay, my heart, my aching heart, 
To lisp thy longing forth ; 
Speak thy intense desire to gaze 
Upon the blooming earth. 

'* All the desires that e'er thou felt'st, 
Compared with this, (save one,) 
Die sooner than the taper's beam. 
When the quick blast hath blown. 

** This, this my panting heart excites, 

With all a passion s glow, 
That I may know long banished health, 
And feel the balmy air's sweet stealth 

Across my temples flow ; 

" And stray the verdant landscape o'er, 
And press the lawns, and walk the shore, 
That I have traced long since before, 
And lift mine eyes unpained, to view 
The glorious morning sun. 

" What years have passed of anguish keen, 
Since last I heard the roar 
Of clashing waves, or marked the scene, 

* Written in 1834. 



93 

Where in the milder sea's deep green, 
The inverted, towering trees were seen 
From yon delightful shore, 

" Or heaid the warbling concert ring, 
While echoing joys responsive sing. 
And purling brook, and bubbling spring, 
In sweet melodious offering, 
Their simple music pour ! 

" Long since. I watched the sun go down, 
Far in the vertnil west; 
And lingering viewed his latest beam, 
Till the fair evening star's first gleam 
Shouc in the misty east; 

"Then sought the stilly couch at night. 
With sweet repose and calm delight, 
While Fancy's soft aerial flight, 
In milder gleams of magic light, 
Shed peace upon my breast. 

" Soft slumber's downy arms received 
My sinking form, and sweet relieved 
The pleasing task of thought, 
WhiUt the gay dream's 
Unfettered themes 
The brain's freed fibres sought. 

" Or, deeper in the placid night, 
I watched the flickering northern light, 

Or gliding meteor's bound. 
Or saw the fair moon slow ascend 
Her radiant height, while stars attend 

At humble distance round ; 

" Or viewed the silvery hill and dale. 
While the sweet night airs plaintive wail 
Through gilded branches of each tree, — 
Or moan in concert with the sea. 
And sigh along the ground. 

" 'Tis long since summer's early dawn, 
That breaks the shades of night, 



94 

And the gay, smiling, blooming morn 
Have cheered my aching sight; — 

" When songs of sweeter harmony 
Than night's soft chanted melody 

Salute the captive ear; 
And far soft slumber's bondage flies 
From off the glad, rejoicing eyes, 
And joys unveiled appear. 

<' 'Tis long since at the winter hearth, 
When friends and kindred meet 
In serious joy, and playful mirth, 
I held a happy seat, 

" And turned beside the taper's light 

The instructive pages o'er ; 
Or heard the wise discourse of age; 
Or read with awe the sacred page, 

And felt its quick'ning power; 
Then joined the joyous vocal strain, 
While fast against the sheltering pane 
Dash the large pattering drops of rain, 

Or wild winds blustering roar.* 

The accomplished writer may express, with great pow- 
er and beauty, sentiments very foreign from his or her 
heart; but when the untaught strike the harp, the songs 
are always truth. Hence the character and history, even 
of these last, may be as certainly deduced from their pro- 
ductions, as the order and genus of a wild plant may be 
traced by its flower. The secluded place in which Miss 
Taggart had always resided, furnished images of great 
power and beauiy for her peculiar train of thought ; — ^the 
sea, whose waves had been the playmates of her child- 
hood ; the wind, whose gentlest breathings were audible 
in this lonely place ; the stoims which swept in their ac- 
cumulated force over the Atlantic, till their whole fury 
seemed bursting on the hill-side where stood the isolated 
dwelling, — these are the images that most frequently oc- 
cur, when her laboring heart would express its feelings 

* See Ode to Health, p. 7. 



95 



of sadness, and hopelessness, and misery. It would 
have been unnatural had not these melancholy im- 
pressions been predominant in her mind. A humble 
Christian she is, and resigned to the will of her heavenly 
Father, but nature could not, without strugghng, always 
endure the cross. And He who prayed in his agony 
that if it were possible the ' cup might pass from him,' 
will not count the sighs of a breaking heart as rebellion 
against God. 

Two strong feelings divide the musings of this solitary 
invalid — the longing for health and for sympathy. The 
loveliness of domestic affections too, often breaks in on 
her dark mind, like a gleam of sunshine in the prison of 
Chillon There is-onepoem, " The Happiness of Early 
Years," we have read over and over ; it is almost too long 
to quote, but we feel loath o mark out a stanza ; it would 
be like throwing away a pearl ; and so here is the whole.* 



There are several other poems in the collection, which 
are equal in beauty to those we have given. The ' Ode 
to the Poppy' has been often published and admired. 
The nature of her disease deprived her of that comforter 
of the wretched, 'bahny sleep,' and her poems abound 
with pathetic allusions to this circumstance, which added 
such bitterness to her wo. How full of beauty are these 
natural expressions of feelings which, in her situation, 
were no exaggerated picture of the thoughts which would 
visit her sleepless pilliow. There is nothing in Young 
more plaintive. 

" Others to rest resigned ; alone I wake. 
Weary and sad : and silent cast my eyes 
Around the solemn scene ; no voice is heard ; 
No footsteps move : a perfect stillness reigns, 
Save the light breeze that sighs in softened sounds, 
And plaintive murmurs round the casement lone. 
The pensive stars glow faintly : the fair moon 
Has risen on high, in majesty serene. 

♦ See Poems, p. 84. 

/ 



96 

How mildly beams her soft quiescent light, 
As if ordained to inspire tranquility, 
And fill the soul with sentiments benign. 
How far from me is sweet tranquility ! 

* * * « >* * 

The soul, — ah me, these agonizing thrills, 
These wild commotions and insatiate pains! 
When banished nature's great supporter, how 
Can nature bear this dread conspiracy 
Of ills unnumbered 1 Yet, so long as flow 
The faintly circulating streams of life, 
Dear is thy dreary gloom, O Night! to me. 
Though rest hath vanished from thy lingering hours. 
And griefs augmenting cause convulsive starts, 
That make me quickly turn from side to side, 
Fatigued and fainting with the frequent task ; 
Yet thou art welcome still, and thy deep tones. 
That sigh congenial sadness from the wind, — 
Whether in whispers soft it moan around, 
Or fiercer breathe its strong impetuous power; 
When the fair moon her aspect mild displays 
Amid the silence of the twinkling stars, 
Or when obscured by thick and sombre clouds ; 
Night, still thou ever art more dear to me, 
Than all the glories of the rising day." 

But we must leave this interesting volume. Our rea- 
ders, who feel an interest in the sligljt sketch we have 
been able to give, will doubtless be glad to learn that by 
purchasing the book they will do kindness to the author. 
This interesting and gifted young woman is now depriv- 
ed of her father, and though not absolutely dependent 
on charity, is yet in those straitenedcircumstances which 
add the fear of want to the pang of sickness. The Poems 
were published entirely for her benefit, and that the 
work has reached a second edition is good evidence that 
her merits are appreciated. 

We feel confident that our readers will thank us for 
introducing to their notice an example of such pure and 
humble worth. There is beauty in every thing that awa- 
kens the moral sensibilities of our nature, and our affec- 
tions are drawn forth by every object that excites the tear 



97 

or smile of sympathy. We may, however, look on a 
face radiant with health and happiness without interest? 
but the linman heart is so constituted, that the appear- 
ance of sorrow and suffering almost always moves the 
feelings, exciting in the mind those sentiments and re- 
flections which tend to make us better and wiser. 

How very few persons live in the unbounded enjoy- 
ment of every luxury, compared with those who are poor 
and distressed ! and from the attacks of disease, no mor- 
tal being is exempted. The bed of sickness, like the 
grave, waits for all. Is it not then of the utmost impor- 
tance to acquaint ourselves with the resources which 
the mind and heart possesses, that we may be prepared 
against the day of adversity ; when the hour of bodily 
weakness comes, we can sustain the energies of the 
sinking spirit, by employing them in thought, in the fields 
of imagination, and we shall then improve our powers, 
even in deep afflictions which seem to preclude all feel- 
ings save those of regret and despair ! This cultivation 
of the mind would not exclude patience or faith;* but, 
on the contrary, purify and exalt them, by training the 
heart, not only to endure its lot, but to comprehend 
forms of beauty, amid the most revolting aspects misery 
can assume, and thus to find cause of grateful thanks to 
God, who orders all in his wisdom. 



" The poems are remarkable, when considered as the 
productions of a country girl, who has lived in entire 
obscurity." 

" Sne had time for reflection, Sir ; fourteen years of 
sickness. And her father was a man of excellent education. 



* We cannot but observe, however, that all other 
sources of consolation to the sufferer, diminish, while the 
unfailing fountain of scriptural comfort, grows fuller 
and deeper. ' When I remember Thee upon my bed, 
and meditate on Thee in the night watches. Because 
Thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of T% 
wings will I rejoice.' 

9 



9S 



Hergrand father was also a great reader, a very great 
reader of history, I have had a great many books of him. 
He was Captain Taggart, a seafaring man. He often 
came to Newport when he sailed for my father. I was 
then a little girl at school, and the old gentleman, her 
grand-father, used to bring me books to read." 

These are the words of an elderly lady, to whom I hap- 
pened to show the proof sheet, as I stopped at her house 
in Tiverton, Rhode Island. They are another testimony 
to the opinion entertained by all the acquaintance ofthe 
family, of their fondness for books. 

" This William thai your are writing about was at our 
house twelve or thirteen years ago, and he then sat down 
and gave us a considerable history of his life, but I can- 
not recollect now what he told us. We were then build- 
ing this house, and the history all went away from me, 
through the multitude of business." The good lady then 
left me to attend lo some of her household affairs, and in 
a moment returning, said, " I believe Captain Taggart, 
the grand-father, was not a pious man, for he used to 
bring me novels and such books as he carried to sea with 
him to read. But when his son William was here, I 
thought he seemed to be a good man, though you know. 
Sir, we cannot judge of that; we can only look upon 
the outward appearance." 

Rhode Island, July, 1835. 



AUGUST 24th, 1841. 

The two brothers mentioned in the first sen- 
tence of this sketch, left Seconet, as the native 
Indians called Little Compton. R. I., on this 
beautiful morning, in order to proceed by land, 
over Rowland's ferry bridge, to the abode of the 
sufferer. They were accompanied by two ladies, 
who had become deeply interested in the circum- 
stances of the family. The writer had made 
several visits to this abode of affliction, after the 
publication of the first edition, and marked the 
changes which years brought over these true pil- 
grims in a valley of tears. Believing that the 
sacraments of the Church of God were appointed 
for all men, and her physicians having declared 
that baptism, administered according to the 
rites of the sect in which she had grown up, 
would be fatal to life, she gladly consented to 
receive the same at the hands of the Rev. Mr. 
West, Rector of Zion Church, Newport, R. I. 



LETTER FROM THE REV. MR. WEST. 

JS\ Y., Oct. 16, 1841. 
Rev. and Dear Sir, 

In compliance with your request, I furnish you 



100 



with the following statement in relation to the 
baptism of Miss Cynthia Taggart, 
Yours, very truly, 

J. WEST. 

It has fallen to my lot to be the almoner of 
many kind friends of Miss Taggart, and often to 
gladden the hearts of a most distressed family by 
forwarding to them their generous contributions. 
This circamstance, together with the interest 
naturally awakened by my proximity to the 
scene of their sufferings, led to an intimacy which 
I endeavored to improve in promoting their spiri- 
tual welfare. Frequent conversations with Miss 
T. convinced me that by the grace of God, she 
had been turned from darkness to light, and from 
the power of Satan unto God ; and was a suita- 
ble subject for Christian baptism. With this 
view of her spiritual condition, I presented the 
subject of her becoming a member of Christ's 
visible Church, to her serious and prayerful con- 
sideration ; and urged upon her a compliance 
with this ordinance, as a proof of her faith, and 
an act of obedience, as well as a means of her 
spiritual consolation and growth in grace. She 
acknowledged the duty, and desired to be deemed 
a proper subject of the ordinance. It is not ne- 
cessary, were it consistent with a proper regard 
to the feelings of Miss T., to enter into any fur- 
ther particulars than simply to state, that a care- 
ful and deliberate consideration of the qualifica- 
tions of a candidate for baptism, and also of the 
objections against that rite as held by psedo-bap- 



101 

lists, led her to the conviction of her duty as a 
believer in Jesus Christ. When her decision was 
made known to me, I selected an early opportu- 
nity to visit her for the purpose of adminisiering' 
the interesting ordinance. It afforded me groat 
pleasure to have the presence of the Rev. Dr. 
Tyng, of Philadelphia, who was at the time 
visiting Newport, and who, at my request, accom- 
panied me. 

Under the circumstances in which this hasty 
sketch is drawn, called upon as I am, away from 
home, and without being allowed time to collect 
my thoughts, I could attempt no description of the 
occasion, were I disposed to do so. Suffice it to 
say, this afflicted child of God, surrounded by the 
pious members of her family, received us as the 
ambassadors of Christ, who had come in his 
name to admit her to the privileges of his spiritual 
household. She was ready ; and the language 
of the Ethiopian nobleman might with propriety 
have been made her own. " What doth hinder 
me to be baptized ?" The ordinance was admi- 
nistered under a feeling sense of God's presence 
and blessing ; the occasion was one never to be 
forgotten, and I would this sacred ordinance were 
entered upon by candidates generally, with as se- 
rious preparation, and as trembling an anxiety to 
do right before God, Subsequentljr, tho' not im- 
mediately, her faith was strengthened, and her 
hopes confirmed, and altho' her mind was after- 
wards thrown into an unhappy state of doubt, by 
the mistaken and unkind suggestion of her Baptist 
friends, unfavorable to the step she had taken, I 
believe I am authorised to say, that she has es- 
9* 



102 



caped that thraldom of prejudice, and now antici- 
pates the pleasure of joining, by the rite of confir* 
mation, in the full communion of the church. 



The aged mother died in peace, in the spring 
1S41. She lived two months only after her 
pension ceased. The writer took his little 
daughter to see these poor people, and will not 
soon forget the beaming welcome he received, 
nor the kiss, bestowed on the back of his little 
girl's head, " lest," said the poor old woman, " lest 
my cough should hurt her." She lies buried by 
the side of her husband. 

Maria's reason has not returned ; though she 
speaks more coherently, and sings some beautiful 
hymns. Cynthia still lies in the same condition : her 
hair, now at the age of thirty-eight, is quite white, 
and her lower limbs drawn up closely to her body, 
and shrunk almost to nothing. How long she is 
to remain thus, God only knows. Let us while 
there is time do good unto her, who has become 
of our household of faith ; and when they and 
we depart may we be gathered unto our fathers 
in the communion of the Church of God ; and 
may God hasten the time when these afflicted 
ones, with all the forgotten and unconverted 
millions deceived by the False Prophet, or bowing 
down to stocks and stones shall cry, 

" Worthy the Lamb, for ha was slain for us." 



103 
«OME ACCOUNT OF SARAH PURBECK. 

While residing in Salem, in the year 1833, as 
assistant minister to the Rt. Rev. Alexander V. 
<jriswold, the venerable Bishop of the Eastern 
Diocese, and now presiding Bishop, the writer 
was requested to visit Sarah Purbeck. , He was 
told that the Rev. Rufus Babcock had called on 
her, and nearly fainted away at the sight. 

Therefore, in the company of the lady of the 
bishop, he entered a poor looking house in that 
street in Salem which presents a full view of St. 
Peter's Church. He remarked on opening the 
door a sound, like the regular beating of a loom. 
What was his astonishment, on ascending the 
stair case, to find that this noise proceeded from 
the regular beating of the head of a young wo- 
man against the wall of the house. I cannot 
give an idea of that awful sight which will never 
fade away from my memory, neither in this 
world, nor as I think in the next. I sat down in 
astonishment and kept silence, expecting «very 
moment to see her die. For the space of twenty 
minutes I uttered not a word aloud, hut said to 
myself, rather the words were forced into my 
mind : " this daughter of Abraham, whom Satan 
liath bound, lo ! these eighteen years !" 

I looked at Mrs. G , and rose to depart 

with a heavy spirit, mourning for the misery of 



104 

man. The sufferer then whispered to her aged 
mother, who was bent nearly double by watch- 
ing, "Will not Mr. R. speak to me?" With 
great effort I forced myself to the head of the bed, 
and happened to place my fingers between the 
bedstead and the wall. Just then the paroxysms, 
which occurred every two or three minutes, re- 
turned ; her countenance was convulsed, her fin- 
gers and arms thrown forward, intensely stretch- 
ed, as if the very cords of her frame would break, 
a species of tic-doloreux, if I may so express it, 
(for I know not how to convey in words, that 
ao-ony I saw eight years ago,) seemed to seize her 
whole body, and with a violent and swift motion 
her head was thrown forward and bowed to the 
bed ; and then as suddenly, as if by some hidden 
and swift machinery, it was thrown back again 
against the cushion fixed on the wall, (but which 
it does not always touch, sometimes striking the 
wall itself,) with such force as to pinch my fin- 
gers and give me pain. Sometimes she is thrown 
entirely from the bed by these inexpressibly terri- 
ble affections of her nerves. I tried to speak, and 
faltered out, " My sister, I came to teach, I have 
remained to learn ; and, since it must be so, and 
you must suffer, I do heartily thank God that I 
have seen you ; for never again will I in this 
world complain of God's dispensations to me." 
Eight years have past, and brought their sorrows, 



105 

biit I have kept my promise, remembered her, an($ 
complained not. 

ye afflicted ! wherever the English tongue is 
spoken, in the name of God, 1 charge you re- 
member this sufferer, whose bodily anguish, (for 
so she assured me,) words are too feeble to tell; 
and pray, and wrestle with Heaven till you gain 
from the Merciful Father, not only a spirit of 
thanksgiving that your sorrows are so light, com- 
pared with hers, but also that only sure, unfailing, 
and eternal consolation which beamed in the peace- 
ful, sweet smile of resignation, as she actually re- 
plied, in a whisper, to my question, "But can you 
by any possibility be resigned under this heavy 
dispensation '?" '' O yes," and then repeated the 
words of the stanza on the 14th page of this little 
book ; and when I wrote out that stanza eight 
years ago, I had this very sufferer in my mind. 

"Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 

But trust him for his grace; 
Behind afroicning providence 

He hides a smiling face." 

1 knelt by her bedside and prayed that she 
-might be relieved from this awful and soul-har- 
rowing agony ; and O how fervently did I raise 
that supplication for this poor daughter of Adam ! 
But if it were not God's will to answer that pray- 
er directly, I prayed that if this "thorn in the 
Hesh" could not be taken away, that a better an- 
-swer and a better support might be given to her^ 



106 

as to Paul, " My grace is sufficient for thee," and 
that she might be, in her affliction, like the patri- 
arch Job, to all who beheld her, a lesson ; that if 
she were excluded from serving God in actioii,she 
might do so by passion, (or suffering,) that she 
might remember, 

*' They also serve who only stand and wait." 
And she was such. I visited her in the course 
of that year and always found her such. And 
she is such still. For, seven years after these 
events, in the summer of 1S40, I stepped from the 
cars from Newburyport, (where, with Miss M. D. 

I had just visited Allan ,* also a sufferer from 

eight years sickness,) went to that street, stopped 
before that same poor looking house, without 
knocking, opened the door, and, O merciful Gcdl 
heard that awful beating loud as a loom, and re- 
gular as a clock ; seven years ! seven years ! ! of 
bodily torment. O mortal frame ! thou art not 
dust but iron ! and as I write this, October 16, 

* When [ lold this young man that I was afraid when 
Cynthia Taggarl's mother died, that they would suffer 
sore distress from the loss of the pension of $200 (the 
five years expired, and the pension ceased in March, and 
the old mother died in May of this year 1841.) " O" 
he replied, '• they will be taken care of" — evidently with 
as much inward and undoubting certainty as a man 
would say, " the sun will set this evening". The prospect 
from his window was desolate enough : " Are you not 
weary of lookiug always on the same scene ?" said 

Mi-s D O no, for I've only been at this window 

two years, and soon I am to iiave my bed placed at the 
other window ! O ye murmurera where are ye ? 



107 

1841, she still suffers, unless the merciful God has 
removed and received her this week. But on 
the occasion of which I speak, silently and alone 
I ascended to her chamber, opened the shutter, and 
stood beside her bed ; she had not seen me in 
seven years. " O brother are you come ? I heard 
that thee preached in town last Sabbath ; and I 
thought thou wouldest not come; and I was 
sorry ; but I said, perhaps the Lord will send 
thee, and now thou art here." 

"You have adopted the Friends' language 
since I saw you, Sally." " Yes," she replied, I 
feel more liberty in doing so ; I hope there is no 
harm." " O no !" I answered, ii's a matter of in- 
difference ; if you like brown bread best, eat that ; 
or white if you prefer." She then related the 
history of these long years; the most skilful phy- 
sicians from Boston and elsewhere had tried all 
known means in vain ; her whole spine had been 
laid nearly bare by caustic applications at the ex- 
pense of excruciating agony ; even animal mag- 
netism had fiiiled, the physician observing, as she 
told me, with a quiet smile, that hers " was an 
exempt case." Yet still she assured me that her 
inward happiness was inexpressible. It was evi- 
dent, indeed, that in the midst of these terrible 
agonies, she was full of Peace that passeth un- 
derstanding. 

Ye mourners and afflicted ! Compare your sor- 



108 

rows with these facts, feebly but truly stated, wiljp 
out a particle of exaggeration, in this little book^ 
and then go your way and bless God for your 
comforts and your happiness ; and remember that 
" Our light affliction which is but for a moment, 
worketh out for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal weight of glory." 



Note. — Cjmthia Taggart lives with her three 
sisters at the cottage, to which her father removed 
after he was obliged to sell his little patrimony on 
the sea shore. (See Engraving.) They reside on 
the Middletown road, 4 miles from Newport, 4th 
house on the left hand, from the estate of Stephen? 
Northam, Esq., and opposite a singularly shaped 
building. The fence round the grave of the 
father and mother may be seen from the roa^, and 
the latticed door of the room in which the poor 
crazy Maria is confined, is visible through the 
second window. The house is round-roofed. 
Mr. R. is thus particular in these directions, that 
wealthy and benevolent persons who visit New- 
port, having sometimes leisure and sometimes 
little to do-, may visit this remarkable family, by 
taking a pleasant drive from Newport, over a 
good road. Then having left at the house a 
dollar, in exchange for a copy of the Poems ; and 
having spoken a kind word to the sufferers in the 
name of the blessed Master, they may return in 
peace to Newport, take theip cup of tea happily, 
and learn the luxury of doing good. 

■ Published by A. V. Blake, 54 Gold Street, N. Y. 
Copyright Secured. 



*t3>lt. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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